


He hurt me

by brightsparx



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Gen, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 122,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightsparx/pseuds/brightsparx
Summary: We often see Liv and Rafael dealing with victims, but what must it feel like to be that victim? To be the person who needs the help, the understanding and sometimes a little cajoling...The other side of the coin of the SVU episodes we so love......how it must feel to be the victim that Liv sees before her everyday, and proof of how much difference one or two people can really make.





	1. He hurt me

**A/N The other side of the coin...**

He hurt me...again.

How could I have allowed it to happen, again?

Did all that pain, really teach me nothing?

I sit here in shock, but not really shocked in the slightest.

It has been leading up to this really, and much as I try to deny the truth of it, I just can't. There really was no other way this was ever going to end.

I even said those words...to a couple of people...before...

But somehow even though the words left my lips, their meaning hadn't really hit home. How is it possible to truly know something, and yet be oblivious to it?

But this is different.

I always promised myself that if he ever hurt me again, I'd do things differently.

I thought that meant that I'd keep my mouth shut. That I'd hide what happened, to save myself the pain that was nearly worse than what precipitated it all...

I **knew** that was what I would do.

Not in the way that someone **knows** they would fight an attacker with everything they had, or run to save themselves...because even when you know what you have done before, you still don't know what you would do if...

I **knew** that I would stay quiet.

I would tell no one.

I would self medicate and self treat any ...intimate injuries, and allow a doctor to treat the regular ones, with the story of being "mugged".

 **Never** would I allow my life to be pulled apart again.

 **Never** would I be naive enough to believe in any sort of 'justice'...not again.

And yet...

Here I sit...

Looking at the clock ticking away, as my life is frozen.

They've been very nice to me.

I wonder is it only because I look injured?

If I didn't have a mark on me, would I somehow be less worthy?

As we walked in, I avoided even catching my reflection in a window; all too aware that even in its low-resolution form, the image, my image, would be enough to drive home the reality of my situation.

He's a big guy...He has hurt me before. I mean literally, cuts, bruises, a twisted wrist, bent back fingers... the full body ache that came with being thrown across a room, that went much deeper than the handful of bruises that sprang up from the collision, that could kindly be called my landing. Hell, I was so sick after he drugged me, it was nearly worse than all the other 'injuries' ...why did I try to fight him again?

I knew I could never win...

But that's what stopped him...

Not soon enough though.

It has to have been the sound of him slamming me against the floor, or hitting me that drew attention? Because I didn't cry out when he...

I didn't want anyone to find me then, to see... **that**.

I can't ever go back...not when the story is more than just imaginings of what went on, that was bad enough, but now... **no!**

I've been toying with the idea of leaving anyway, why is it such a huge gaping loss now, that I have to?

I tried to cover myself up as he was pulled off me...I don't think there was time for my partial nakedness to be noticed...but there was no doubt about what was going on...

Why, as I sit here considering it, do I wish that maybe even for a moment, I had the option of passing it off as consensual?

Why do I care more about how I'm spoken about...than nearly anything else?

If 'that man' hadn't pulled him off me, and tried to help me...if 'that man' hadn't all but carried me here, would I be here? And is it too late to leave?

I gave my name as I was checked in...well, actually 'that man' gave my name...I couldn't find my voice...funny for someone who just never shuts up, I couldn't find a word, not even my name...

But if I left now, would this ever show on any records?

I don't want this...

I don't want to be prodded and poked...and more importantly, I don't want to be judged and interrogated, to have my life put under a microscope...

I don't want this...

But maybe I need it?

Maybe I have a concussion? I can't keep a thought straight...I'm flitting from one thing to the next...unable to finish one train of thought...or maybe unwilling...?

If I tried to leave now, I'm sure I'd have to leave the way I came in...and I'm sure 'that man' is still out there... despite my pleas for him to leave...'that man' said he wasn't going anywhere...

I don't know how to describe the look on 'that man's' face...shock, maybe anger, something akin to disgust, mixed with stomach churning sickness...

In other circumstances, I may have described 'that man' as a friend...well, as close to a friend as I am capable of, these days...but now...I can't even bear 'that man's' name...'that man' saved me from god knows what but...I can't even stomach to look him in the eye, for fear of what I will see...

For ever more, if we look at each other, **that** will be all we will see...

'That man', will forever be my living, breathing, reminder of...what happened. All that went before, between us, has been scrubbed from the annals of history, and **this**...is all that will endure.

I'm sure I saw blood on his face after he was pulled off me...did 'that man' hit him? Or was it my blood?

Does it matter?

I don't want to do this...

As footsteps approach the door I'm cowering behind, the thought repeats, I don't want to do this...

As predicted the only barrier between me, and the world beyond it, opens, slowly, as if the hand controlling it is deliberately trying to minimize its impact...

The white coat starts to introduce herself, all business like, but strangely, not lacking in compassion, like she does this all the time but isn't jaded...

Her movements are carefully calculated to be gentle and slow, like she knows how on edge I am...

She continues to talk, but my mind has wandered away...

I don't want this...

I don't want to be 'examined', I don't want to be on trial for what he did...I'm sure he's meant to be the one on trial, but last time, it was all too clear that I was every bit as much ‘on trial’ as he was...and that was only an internal investigation, imagine when people are allowed to sit and watch me be torn apart by his defense...when even that is not private...

The white coat rests a gentle hand on my arm; right beside my wrist...she couldn't have touched me anywhere less private... and still I leap off what passes for a bed...

I don't want this...

I'm vaguely aware of being curled up, as far from foreign hands as I can get, without moving, ...the pain stops me from that, as the white coat backs off...

I didn't want what he did either...

If I don't do this, could he hurt me again? Or could he hurt someone else?

It has haunted me for so long that he could have hurt someone else...Pats even said he had...but was it the truth, or a clever ploy to make me consider the possibility,... not that one was needed?

 **Never** would I press charges against him, no matter what he did...but yet I'm here...

A woman with a badge makes her way into the room as unobtrusively as she can, _"My name is Lieutenant Olivia Benson, I'm sorry this has happened to you...My partner is talking to the man who brought you in here...Can you tell me about the assault?"_

For someone who never shuts up, today I'm doing an incredible impression of a silent 1920's Charlie Chaplin, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and ridiculous overreactions...

The badge lady makes careful, direct eye contact with me...she is completely silent, in contrast to everyone else, who had tried to show their support and somehow comfort me, with idle chatter and careful glances when they thought I wasn't looking...

She doesn't move or speak until my gaze finally meets hers and I hold her eye.

_"If you're not ready to talk about it yet...we can come back to that?"_

I just nod slightly.

_"You look like you need medical attention, can we help you?"_

_"I didn't want this..."_ I croak out, surprising even myself...

She just nods sadly, like she has seen this too many times, and each time it hurts her no less...

I don't want this...

I always **knew** I wouldn't press charges against him, if he hurt me again...

But again, there is no secret to protect,...even that choice has been taken from me again...all that is left to me, is to fight... even though this fight will leave marks every bit as real as the ones that mar my skin now...

I don't want this, but I will do it...

Words fail me again, as I just nod softly, and she seems to understand, she gestures to the white coat that returns with a BP cuff in hand, as I reluctantly, but resolutely, hold out my arm.

 

 

 

 


	2. Pain

I don't want this, but I will do it...

Words fail me, again, as I just nod softly, and she seems to understand, she gestures to the white coat that returns with a BP cuff in hand, as I reluctantly, but resolutely, hold out my arm.

Every touch makes my skin crawl.

The white coat tries to be as gentle as she possibly can; she never touches me until my eye finds her intended target, for fear of smashing through my fragile cooperation.

But every time her gloved hands contact with my skin, I try to fight back the bile that forces its way up.

I'm not someone prone to bouts of hyperbole, usually preferring to try and comfort myself by understating events, almost minimizing things, and considering how much more catastrophic they could have been. No matter what happened, I was always protected by my natural negativity, seeing the proverbial glass as half empty, also oddly comforted me, it wasn't completely empty! But now, even the most glancing contact, makes me believe more and more, in the ability of a human to simply crawl out of their skin, and I can't find a way to twist my present position into something possibly worse... so there is no comfort, of any sort...

Every feel of her fingers, forces me to lose another fragment of myself, as if every inch of me she examines, is surrendered... and ceases to be a part of me.

I'll never be whole again...

Even in this state, I'm vaguely aware how long it has been since I could claim to be anything close to whole...

Could this probing be any worse? Even if the white coat before me, was inhabited by a man?

The thought comes to a grinding halt, as sickness tingles through me...I'm still almost fully dressed...

The zip up hoody 'that man' gave me, is still clutched tightly in my hand, as the white coat takes my blood pressure, and cleans and checks the tiny cuts and bruises on my arms. Despite realizing how ludicrous it was, I hadn't wanted to take it off, and even now, just holding it, helps me feel less vulnerable...I can cover up again if I need to...

Even with the knowledge that I would eventually, have to undress,... when the request is softly made, I freeze. My mouth dries, my mind empties, all that remains, is panic...panic and fear.

I don't want to do this...

I **can't** do this...

In my panic, I must have looked to the badge, because she has moved closer to me, and she is talking softly.

_"I know it's the last thing you want to do...I can only imagine how terrifying, even the thought of it, is...but we need to make sure you get the medical help you need. And we need evidence to get **him**..."_

She looks me in the eye again.

I don't feel patronized. Her words should make me feel as if I was being talked down to, but that is not her intent, nor is it the result. Instead I feel like she is on my side, like she understands...

My arms stay locked protectively across my body, but the hand clasped tightly to the neck of my shirt loosens its grip slightly.

She takes this for the progress it is.

 _"You are in control here..."_ she whispers.

I expected her to berate me, gently, about how I needed to protect other women from what I was experiencing, or how important the evidence on my body was, or how they were only trying to help me...

I guess I've watched too much TV, but I expected to be lectured about doing the right thing, to hear some version of a "victim speech", but she seems to instinctively know that I need cold hard truths and fact.

_"It won't be pleasant...but we can stop as many times as you need to...and if you want Doctor Taylor to, she can tell you exactly what she is doing?"_

I nod quickly, without thinking.

Unwittingly agreeing to... **this**...

I don't want this, but I think I need to do it...

 _"He slammed my head against the ground..."_ I rasp...

The badge gives me a half smile as she steps back, allowing the white coat to approach me again.

Was that my voice? It didn't sound anything like me...

When she has checked my head, she passes me a horrible hospital gown, tentatively.

My heart thumps harder, but I make no move...

 _"We could start with just your shirt?"_ the white coat suggests.

I try to pull the shirt over my head before I have time to overthink it, but the events of the night make certain movements painful.

I don't think I'm really **hurt**...I'm just in pain.

This thought turns my slight gasp, into a gurgling chuckle...

My body is bruised and cut, every muscle feels like it has been overextended, and there's pain when I breathe in too deeply...I'll never be whole again... but I'm not **really** hurt...?

I suppose it is all-relative, but the only modicum of comfort I can find, is that I don't think there are any broken bones, no injuries that are life threatening...maybe just a little life limiting...and maybe those injuries can't be seen quite so easily...

I try to shake off these thoughts, not sure I can go through this, if I allow myself to go down that rabbit hole...

 **Focus**...on anything...anything that removes me from... **this**...

True to her word, the white coat tells me every move she makes.

Every step is more painful than the last...

Every question more intrusive than the last...

Every contact more unwanted than the last...until every fiber in my body is screaming, but I try to cling on to what little is left of my dignity.

The tears I struggled to keep at bay, long ago, won out...but I refuse to acknowledge them, steadfastly, ignoring the tissues silently placed beside me...

Having the invasive examination and questions to concentrate on, is strangely helping...as horrible as it is; it is preferable to the painful emptiness I had felt as I waited.

I know I'm only delaying it, but I'll take the physical pain and discomfort over...that consuming, nauseating, silent, despair.

Despite the warmth of the room, I'm cold, and shaking, as I lie on the hard bed.

In a last desperate attempt to escape the white coat's probing, I find my voice, the words tumbling out unbidden...anything that can take some focus from what my body is going through now...

I start to tell the badge my story, the beginnings of my statement, as it will later become.

She gently holds my hand, when I wince and unconsciously reach for hers...

Despite her telling me I don't have to give my statement now, I just want to get it all done...so I can start to leave all **this** in the past...

I stumble over what brought me here today, and whisper details I never wanted to say, but the really difficult questions begin when she asks if I know him, and what our relationship is...

I start to feel light headed, as I try to explain our past; how we were co-workers, how he hurt me before, how I cooperated with an internal investigation in our shared workplace but wouldn't pursue criminal charges against him...

I know that fact is going to make what is to come, that bit more difficult.

Amazingly, such huge events are explained away very quickly, and I wonder is it possible for something so crushing, to be so simple?

She asks a few questions, gently clarifies some details, and then there is nothing more to be said...

I silently, watch her bag up my clothes, with an impassivity that even the most callous observer would struggle to muster.

Already, in my head, I'm conscious of how this morning's choice of clothing reflects on me...whether the underwear, the beautifully patterned bra, that make me feel feminine, under non-descript, loose, work appropriate clothing, makes it look like I wanted it, or somehow invited it?

I regret the choice of skinny jeans, despite them being something I so seldom wear at work. The morning had begun with torrential rain, light flooding had been predicted, and I had reasoned that skinny jeans tucked into boots would allow me to escape the wet, that would otherwise, inevitably, travel up the back of my regular boot-cut, looser, work jeans.

It's these thoughts that remind me how 'that man' had joked about me being 'out of uniform' this morning, and how, even I, had noticed his eye wander. The skinny jeans not hiding me the same way my clothing usually would...

This morning, that gentle attention, had made me smile self consciously, as I hurriedly explained my choice.

Now I wonder if I brought this on myself?

Why did I choose today, to relax my normal rules about carefully hiding my curves as best I can...?

Well I won't ever need to worry about 'that man's' eyes taking in my form again...

I wonder what 'that man' is telling the badge's partner now?

She excuses herself momentarily, promising she will just be outside the door...as she passes my clothes and all the doctor's...samples, off to the partner I catch only the briefest glimpse of, as the window blinds flutter against the frame when the door closes. He is a middle aged, black, man. He scares me a little as I look at him...

They whisper to each other, huddled just outside the window, I see, before the blind settles back into place and the outside world is once more blocked off...

I can't help but worry about what they are saying...

Do they believe me?

Are they already giving up on my case?

What is her partner telling her?

When the door starts to gently swing open again, I get a better view of the partner who stands behind her...

There is something scary about him, until I see his face, it is undeniably kind...he looks as though he has seen too much and it hurts him...

_"This is my partner, Detective Fin Tutuola."_

He still stands outside the small room as he nods to me.

_"He has taken a witness statement from John. Everything he has said, completely, supports your statement..."_

A sob escapes from somewhere deep inside me.

_"John asked Fin to check on you. To tell you he is outside if he can do anything for you? If you need anything?"_

I'm simultaneously terrified and so grateful...and after a moment of trying to understand the flood of emotion, I realize that both detectives are waiting on some sort of answer...

I try to find words, but settle on a quick shake of my head...

_"Would you like for him to wait for you? Or would you be more comfortable if I took you home when we're done here?"_

We're not done?

Oh god...I can't...what more can be taken from me?

I can't do this...

I don't want to do this...

What little control I had been holding on to, deserts me as I sob...

 _"We'll tell him I'll be taking you home...?"_ she repeats softly.

 _"P...P...Please..."_ is all I can force out.

Her partner nods immediately as he gives me a look I can only describe as supportive, before he pulls the door closed.

After a couple of minutes of gut wrenching sobs, I feel that I need to explain...

_"He saw...I don't think I can look him in the eye again...he saved me...he didn't hurt me, he only helped me, he was so careful,... but..."_

I look to her, silently pleading with her to understand me...

 _"John?"_ she questions softly.

Again a simple nod of my head is her answer.

_"It's ok, Fin understands... he'll try to make sure John understands too..."_

There are no promises; because she can't make any...and this is a comfort...she is telling me the truth...

Somehow, her quiet partner, who didn't intrude, but still made his support felt, has my trust...I believe he will explain...

As the flare of emotion ebbs slowly, I look to the badge, silently asking her what is next...

 _"I thought you might like to shower before you dress, and I take you home?"_ as she says this, she looks to the white coat for confirmation that there is no objection.

A tiny nod from the white coat is her endorsement.

When their questioning glances are answered with a croaky _"...please..."_ the white coat briefly excuses herself from the room to gather some supplies for me.

_"I will be just outside when you are ready...take your time...and you can just call for me when you are done...my name is Olivia."_

She waits for my nod, placing some sort of clean clothing on the bed, before she leaves me clutching a bottle of water, a towel, and a little bag with a small bottle of shower gel, a disposable toothbrush with toothpaste, and a comb, as if they were gold...

The silence is a huge relief, as I look towards the small bathroom they gestured to, still trying to hold the hospital gown completely closed, despite the empty room and the events of the last few hours...


	3. Complete devastation

The water will never be hot enough, the soap will never be enough...I will never be able to wash **this** away...

I scrub and soap my hair and body, until I can no longer stand under the punishing, steaming, spray, but I don't feel any cleaner...

The towel I wrap around my skin, offers no comfort, it's clean, but not big enough or soft enough to even begin to soothe my shredded nerves. It's **functional**...just like the thin plastic comb I drag through my hair matted by countless shampooings.

There is small succor in the cheap, loose scrubs I pull on...they don't remind me of... **it**.

And when I wrap the zip up sweatshirt around me, I feel like the unsightly reminders of the day are covered, hidden away from the casual observer's eye.

All of a sudden, I'm overcome by a need to get out of here, and can barely gather my few belongings together, before I find myself at the door, huskily calling, _"Olivia?"_...

She appears, quickly tucking her phone away.

_"Are you ready to go home?"_

I try to answer her; to show I'm not the mute idiot, I seem to be...but the words once again, just won't come. And I can only nod at her question.

She returns my nod, silently leading me away from the room I cannot escape quick enough...but I still can't resist a longing glance back towards its safety.

As we pass through the waiting area I last saw 'that man' in, I unthinkingly duck my head down into the neck of the sweatshirt.

It doesn't go unnoticed by her.

_"It's ok...John left. Fin said he understood...he asked us to let you know if there is anything he can do, he'd really like for you to call him..."_

It sounds like him. He's always been someone I felt I could call...I never have...but it means so much now, to just have him confirm it...

Yet another soft nod verifies my understanding, and she pretends not to notice the tears his words call forward.

We make our way out to her car and she starts to drive me home in a silence broken only by the very low, indistinct, soft music of the radio.

 _"What..."_ my voice breaks and I cough lightly trying to push whatever courage I have left, into my fragile voice, _"What happens now?"_

Even to my ears, I fail miserably.

The terror is all too evident...

_"Detectives are going to talk to the man you have identified as your attacker. We will continue to investigate and send all the files to our ADA..."_

Somehow despite all my TV experience, it never occurred to me that charges might never even be filed...

What was I thinking?

She seems to sense my mounting hesitancy.

_"We have a witness...that is a huge thing...it makes your attacker's position so much more tenuous..."_

I nod along as she tries to encourage me, but the gnawing doubt still continues to grow.

No one **really** believed me last time, and he got away **it.**..why did I believe this time would be any different?

Last time, it was too hard for them all to imagine the colleague they knew, doing something like **that**. Maybe, they couldn't accept that their judgment of someone could be so wrong? Men like them, men that work alongside them, don't do things like **that**...

I took huge solace in words like _"I believe **something** happened...", "Are you sure he understood?...What he **did**.......? Are you sure **you** didn't misinterpret..."_

I was never blind to the question inherent in them, but there was also **some** acceptance of a problem...even that, made me feel believed, or at least not disbelieved...in the moment. But as days became months, and months ticked into years...the grappling questions became something else...proof that I really wasn't believed.

And when over the years, one of them occasionally found their way to me, cautiously bringing up the subject, it became more and more clear to me, how bad it was...when these men struggle to find a word to describe what happened, and settle on words such as _"molested"_ and _"assaulted"_ , and admit to feeling _"bad for not doing anything...",_ it only serves to highlight how little I was believed or helped...

I knew from the moment he reappeared, all those years later... he still intimidated me at every opportunity, he still looked at me...that same way, I knew I wasn't safe.

But I didn't want to cause **another** fuss...

I didn't want to be the **'her'** , whispered about and pointed at...not again...

I tried to protect myself...carrying anything I could reasonably justify, but use as a weapon if...

I tried to avoid him...always yielding when he tried to crowd me, or isolate me...

I tried to start agonizing conversations, so I'd never be left alone with him...

I should have done more...I **knew** I was in danger...

It is only when the streets morph into my neighborhood that I can pull myself out of the 'what-if' game that has completely overtaken my mind.

As she pulls in where I gesture, in front of my building, she turns to me...

_"You've done all the right things, you came forward...that's not easy. You went through with the exam. It takes so much strength and self belief to do that...I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you should be proud of yourself..."_

It's odd but her words hit home, somewhere deep inside me and I find a ragged, version of my voice.

_"I heard it said somewhere, on some TV show, that it takes a certain amount of self esteem to want to cause a scene, even when faced with danger...when he hurt me before, I didn't feel I was worth it...I'm still not sure why I did **this**... I always felt he'd hurt me again, **this** was never how I was going to deal with it, but perhaps I need to know I think I am worth trying..."_

My whispered words earn me a small smile. It's not a forced, almost grimace, it's a hint of the woman behind the badge...

 _"Let's get you up to your apartment...?"_ she questions softly when silence descends again.

Her voice makes it clear there is a question, if that is what I want to do.

This deference to me, this attempt to restore some control to me, even in the most basic way, means so much.

Only after I nod tearfully, does she push open her door and move around to where I am stumbling out.

She leads the way to my apartment, and very naturally, follows me into my home, offering to make me some tea or coffee and help me get settled.

I just shake my head, " _Thank you, but I'm tired, I think I'll just have a nap"_ , I say, gesturing lightly to the couch, and trying to sound much more comfortable in my own home, than I am.

Her eye quickly follows my gesture and she nods softly. Her eyes quickly wander in the direction of my bedroom...but she seems to, reluctantly, swallow what could only have been a suggestion that I get into bed instead. It's as if she knows the irrational fear that accompanies the idea of lying, vulnerably, in my bed...

_"Are you sure there is no one I can call for you?"_

I shake my head and she pulls out a card, scribbling a number on the back...

_"This is my cell...if you have any questions, or just want to talk..."_

I take the card, holding it tightly.

 _"Thank you...for everything"_ I whisper again.

She brushes off my thanks, _"Any time...don't ever hesitate to call me?"_

If she gives her card to every vi...woman or man, in my position that she encounters, she must get very few uninterrupted nights...but yet her offer is undeniably sincere.

She meets my eye once more before she starts to let herself out. As she pulls open the door, I whisper, _"Do I have to do anything else now?"._

She shakes her head, _"No. Get some rest. Look after yourself. I'll be in touch..."_

As the door closes softly I'm both relieved to finally be alone, in a familiar space, and petrified of the solitude.

I slump onto the couch, still clutching tightly to her card, trying not to allow my mind to inventory my injuries, or slip back into the 'what if' game...


	4. Interrogation

A number of almost, sleepless, days pass, broken only by unanswered phone calls and gentle texts from 'that man'.

He is very kind, always offering any support he can possibly think of, from offers of getting me food, to driving me anywhere I need to go, to just some company, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen...

I know he is unsure of how to open the dialogue of what happened...and I am little help to him, responding, _"I'm fine, thank you..."_ to every offer...but barely managing to contain the query of _"What did you tell everyone?"_

Until I can no longer push it down...and the words escape...

 _"What did you say...?"_ I hurriedly send, before I have a chance to talk myself, once more, out of it.

I almost cave, and call him in desperation, frantic to have him explain his response of _"I told no one, it's not my place..."_

But fear of the so craved, but desperately dreaded, answer he may provide, should I choose to push harder, dilutes my resolve, and I silently retreat back into the bed clothes haphazardly pulled around me on my couch.

I screen my calls, watching each name flashing on the display carefully,...silencing each demand... not declining them... but not answering them...until Olivia rings, her number saved into my phone on that first night...

_"Hello?"_

_"This is Lieutenant Olivia Benson, do you remember me?"_

I nod before remembering she can't see me, _"I do, Lieutenant, thank you for all your help..."_

_"It's Olivia, please..."_

_"Olivia..."_ I repeat...

 _"How are you?"_ she asks softly.

I don't know how to answer her enquiry. It feels like more than just politeness...but I still can't quite put words to so much...so I settle for a half-truth _..."A bit sore still, but ok..."_

I'm guarded, but yet, glad to be talking to someone...and still the silence feels like further evidence of how broken I am...

_"Would it be ok, if I was to call over this afternoon with our ADA?"_

I try to fight down the terror...more questions...

_"Ehhh, Yes...uhhh, that would be fine..."_

_"Would just after lunch suit?"_

Again I try to just nod, _"Fine...,"_ I force out with little conviction.

_"Thank you...I'll see you later."_

_"See you after lunch..."_ I echo mindlessly...

For a moment I'm completely empty, it's like my whole brain has been wiped...but then terror grips my stomach, squeezing it, until I'm bent double, my chin resting on my knees, tears slipping down my cheeks.

I fight the clock for the intervening hours. I shower, and dress. Dragging the bedclothes and pillows from the couch, I throw them into the closet, hiding the evidence of how badly I am struggling.

All the while, trying not to allow my mind to speculate on the questions I will no doubt be subjected to...Why did I allow him to get me alone, if I felt he was a danger? Why did I not fight him harder? Why did I not use the tools in my back pocket to defend myself? Why...?

As if anyone can possibly come up with a question my addled brain has not already found, in the self-hatred and doubt that has come to fill the gaps that sleep once occupied...

When the gentle tap on the door finally comes, I almost welcome it...at least it will put an end to my misery, when they tell me they have chosen not to pursue my case...

Olivia stands in front of me, a well-dressed man slightly behind her...

_"This is our ADA Rafael Barba..."_

We both nod tightly at each other, by way of a greeting.

Again my words fail me, as I use a sweeping wave of my hand, to invite them in off my doorstep...

Olivia sits, gently, onto the couch, as I close the door, trying to conceal how badly I am shaking; the ADA follows her lead and sits beside her, leaving the chair empty for me...

I try to be dignified, sitting up straight in the soft armchair, crossing my hands in my lap to still the nervous fidgeting...

 _"How are you?"_ she asks softly, looking at me carefully, no doubt seeing the wet hair pulled into a loose, messy ponytail, the massively oversized clothes, the black circles under my red eyes...

I shrug...already fighting to keep myself together...

 _"It's ok, you can just tell me you won't be pursuing it...I understand..."_ I try to sound nonplussed, but can't disguise the agony in my quiet voice...

The lawyer speaks for the first time, _"No...it's nothing like that..."_ He looks quickly down at his briefcase, _"It won't be easy, but I'd like to try...I just need to get some more information..."_

I look from him to her...surprised at his words...I had tried so hard to prepare myself for the inevitable rejection, that no other outcome had seemed possible...

_"You do?"_

He carefully meets my eye _"I do..."_

I take a deep breath, nodding...

 _"Let's start with your statement?"_ he gently asks.

Like Olivia, he seems to want to give me some semblance of control and waits on my okay before he continues...

He asks detailed questions, apologizing when he has to push me for detail I'm hesitant to give...making scribbled notes as I speak...

An almost, imperceptible, look passes between them, as his line of questioning seems to wrap up...a flutter in my stomach confirms that this was only the warm up...as he takes a deep breath...

_"I need some more information about your previous...attack?"_

I can't help but notice his hesitance to finish that sentence...

Does he not believe me?

Does he believe this 'attack' happened because I made a false accusation before?

I feel my dignity desert me and I begin to crumble...

I expected him to look to her as I start to sob, but he doesn't...he confidently calls my name until I look at him, and calmly explains that he needs any information he can get, to be prepared, not because he doesn't believe me...

I wordlessly get to my feet, trying to quiet the sobs, as I shuffle to the bookcase, to retrieve the investigation report I have never been able to throw away...maybe I knew somewhere deep inside, that I'd need it again...

He takes the thick, ring bound, file I shove at him...reading it's title and immediately delving into it...

Olivia stands and offers to make me some tea or coffee...by means of an answer I shuffle to the kitchen and pull out three cups...she fills the kettle, setting it to boil, as I reach for a French press and coffee...as an afterthought I grab some tea...

I wipe my tears on my sleeve when I think she is not watching, trying hard, not to look so feeble, as we wait on the water to boil...

A quick glance over at the lawyer sees him scribbling madly as he reads...

When we return to the couch, with hot coffee for him, and me, and tea for Olivia, he takes the proffered cup from her without even looking up...

As he finishes reading the investigation conclusions, he mutters slightly, flicking through the statements catalogued in the remaining pages...

 _"They're all signed..."_ he mutters again...

He takes another mouthful of coffee...pondering the file in his lap...

 _"Can I take this?"_ he asks softly.

I can only nod, glad to finally, be rid of it...

_"I need to read it carefully, and may have more questions then, but if it is alright, I have a few now?"_

He is all business, but there is softness, an understanding, in the way he is dealing with me...

I take a deep breath, put down my untouched coffee, and nod...

_"Can you tell me how this investigation came to be convened?"_

I briefly describe how bad behavior had slowly become unacceptable, and no help was forthcoming from my colleagues, so I tried to get a manager to help me, but my skewed perspective caused me to misjudge my examples of the behavior, and left my manager unable to do anything but, inform the general manager...

 _"So the situations detailed in this report are only examples of some of the 'bad behavior'?"_ he asks with a pointed look to Olivia...

He continues to pepper me with questions, rephrasing queries, and continuing to push until he feels he has enough information...for now...

As his interrogation seems to be concluding, for now... he asks if I have any questions for him...

 _"Has he been questioned?"_ I whisper...

_"He has."_

_"What did he say?"_ I ask with obvious dread...

_"He tried to claim that nothing happened, until we mentioned John's statement, then he completely changed his story, saying that you had a previous relationship, and you wanted to rekindle it, that you pursued him, and that you instigated the 'liaison' that John partly witnessed...that you wanted rough sex..."_

He looks me in the eye as he tells me this...

_"Already, another colleagues of yours, has made a statement supporting your fear of this man, stating that you would go out of your way to try to avoid being alone with him, it also confirmed how widely known in your industry it was, that he shouldn't be left alone with you..."_

I start sobbing as I hear this...

 _"I can only imagine how horrifying this is...and how this must sound to you...but this all supports your accusation..._ "

He holds eye contact with me.

_"I'm not going to lie to you, this is going to be hard...you're probably not going to like me very much by the time I'm done, but I want to win for you,... Anything you try to keep from me could cost us the case...This is not going to be quick, it will take months to come to trial...but I can promise you, I will file charges against him, because I believe he hurt you...I will try, but he will most likely be released on bail, he will not be able to contact you and because of your work situation, we will push for a restraining order to prevent him "accidentally" running into you at work..."_

Somehow, just like Olivia's partner, this man has earned my trust; despite my fear...

I nod my understanding...

_"Now is there anything you think I should know, that I need to know?"_

I think for a moment, unwilling to voluntarily share, but also unwilling to lose, because of a stupid secret that will probably come out anyway...

_"Previously...during the investigation, I tried to warn him, I didn't want to ruin his life...I just wanted him to stop...It all got out of control so fast...I was afraid he'd be mad at me..."_

I try to ignore the tears that stream down my embarrassment-shaded cheeks. It sounds so stupid...What kind of idiot wants to protect the man who hurt her? But it was almost self-preservation...not only for fear of repercussion, but also a last, wretched, attempt to wrest back some control of the situation.

_"I tried to be friendly to him at first...I though it was just hazing, that it would stop...when he wasn't hurting me, I tried to be friendly, I thought he might stop..."_

My words only compound my weakness.

I tried to stop him, by showing how nice I was...if ever there was a stupid solution to a difficult situation...

He considers my words _..."So you tried to defuse the situation, you didn't want to bring charges against him?"_

I nod...grateful that he doesn't dismiss my ridiculous coping mechanism, and that he seems to understand, somehow, some of my feelings...

_"But since the investigation, in all the intervening years, and recently, there has been no interaction?"_

His question cuts deep...but I can't resent it, is it not exactly what I have just told him, I did, at one point, try to do...?

_"No. I haven't spoken to him at all, not even when working...and recently I've tried to avoid being in the same area as him, and have asked colleagues to keep an eye on me when he is around..."_

He looks at me carefully, _"So what changed?"_

I take my time answering this question knowing how important it is, I could recount the occasion where he informed everyone in ear shot about how the metal bar he was swinging had 'my name on it', or countless examples of intimidating behavior, since the investigation ended...but I can't prove any of those incidents now...

_"Because now there was no pretense of a cordial work acquaintance, all I sensed from him was danger..."_

For a moment I battle with the necessity to explain myself...to try to justify sensing danger...

It is only when the lawyer doesn't question my words that the realization hits home; he isn't questioning my slightly indefinite explanation, because that vague, woolly, sense of danger, when framed by recent events sounds a lot less nebulous... **he really did hurt me**...

He nods, handing me a card from his briefcase as I sag visibly... _"If you think of anything else I should know..."_

He starts to pack up and gestures to the report I gave him, _"This may help...I'll be in touch when I've read it properly, I'm sure I'll have more questions..."_

He picks up his coat and Olivia follows suit, they move towards the door but he stops turning to me...

_"I can only imagine how hard this is, you are doing the right thing, look after yourself..."_

His phone rings and he excuses himself as he steps into the hall.

 _"Barba!"_ I hear him announce sharply as my mind starts to wander...

Despite not hearing it, I know this is not the first time Olivia has called my name from the way she is looking at me...

 _"I'm sorry?"_ I whisper.

She seems to know that I need some reassurance _..."He's going to be charged..."_

But the support she had hoped her words would convey, twists into something else entirely as my brain processes them...

 _"Everyone will know..."_ I wail...

I look to her, tears rolling down my face again, silently begging for her to say it isn't so...


	5. Realization

What is it called when there seems to be a volume control on the world, and someone is quickly lowering it?

When your body feels like it is somehow, separate to your head, and you have only the most basic control of it...when it barely feels like yours at all?

When a queasy dizziness takes you over, and the noise level of everything around you has become unnaturally quiet, and indistinctly fuzzy?

When every movement seems like it's caught in some internal, strobe light?

When it feels like someone is spinning the room, and it is too fast?

I need to sit down...

My back slides, slowly, down the door, but I can't feel the action, I can just see my surroundings sliding up my vision...

I watch the lawyer walking briskly at me; his lips still moving into the phone before he stuffs it into his pocket, and drops his briefcase...my flickering vision causes his movements to look jerky and odd, like the sloppy, flip book animations of my childhood.

As he reaches me, so does Olivia...I know they are both talking to me, but there's only an odd, static-y, whoosh in my ears.

 _"Sorry..."_ I whisper...unsure of my own volume in the quiet...

As quickly as the volume was pulled down on my surroundings, it's turned back up...and every little noise is, suddenly, too much for my sensitive mind.

 _"Are you ok?"_ I hear Olivia ask, as she worriedly, takes my pulse, and he goes to fill a glass of water for me.

My voice is shaky as I try to explain, _"I'm sorry, I felt a little dizzy...I must have stood up too quick..."_

My shaking hand betrays me though, as I reach for the half full glass; I'm immensely grateful it isn't full enough to be sloshing water over the sides, as I raise it to my mouth.

After a few sips, and at her urging, I take a few deep breaths, handing her back the glass.

They are both so caring, there is no sign, whatsoever, of any judgment, any annoyance, in either of them, but still I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

I try to clamber off the floor ... they both reach out to help me, but he is better placed, and she just nods softly at him as he puts his hand under my elbow, supporting me gently.

For some reason I can't even begin to explain, I don't shrink away from his touch, as he carefully watches me... in fact I gratefully accept the supportive hand when a fresh wave of dizziness hits, and I close my eyes, trying to will it back...

 _"It's ok, take a deep breath...you're safe...nobody is going to hurt you..."_ he assures softly, stepping behind me, his second hand reaching under my other elbow...

He guides me to the nearby armchair, settling me into it, despite my wobbly, hesitant steps...

As soon as the dull roar of the blood rushing in my ears, abates slightly, I find myself apologizing once more...

_"Thank you...I'm so sorry...I'm not usually like this...I don't..."_

He cuts me off mid sentence, carefully meeting my searching stare, _"You have nothing to apologize for, **nothing**..."_

I try so hard to really hear the words he is saying, I can see he means them...but I can't contain the sense of weakness that is enveloping me.

As my eyes dip down to the floor, he quietly says _"This is not weakness...needing help is not weakness...taking help is a sign of immense strength...we are here to help..."_

Once again I am effectively mute, as I struggle to hold back the tears that are only ever a breath away.

Olivia and the lawyer seem to be able to communicate silently, as a couple of looks are enough for them to decide that he will leave, and she will stay with me.

He picks up the briefcase he had abandoned at the door, turning once more to me... _"Try to look after yourself...I'll be in touch, and you have my number..."._

He nods at me as he leaves, softly closing the door, while once again a whole conversation seems to pass, in just a glance and a nod to Olivia.

She takes a seat on the couch, close to me, but not crowding me, and waits patiently; instinctively knowing I need a moment to compose myself.

 _"I'm sorry..."_ I start to say once more, but again she waves off my apology, much as the lawyer had done only moments ago.

_"Barba was right, you have nothing to apologize for...when did you last eat? Sleep?"_

I know I should try and claim I've done both, but I'm too tired to keep up the pretense any longer...my last reserves of strength are crumbling...

I just shrug.

 _"Are you having nightmares?"_ she asks softly.

I don't know what has happened, but words tumble out, completely uncensored...

_"They're like 'waking dreams'...of what happened...and more..."_

She nods carefully.

_"I know you didn't want to speak to anyone at the hospital...but have you tried to speak to anyone since...a therapist? A friend?"_

I shake my head, taking some solace in at least having that much strength...

_"Can you tell me why not?"_

_"I...I don't...I didn't...I should have known...I did know...I told people this would happen...I shouldn't have let him get close to me...I didn't protect myself... I couldn't protect myself..."_

She shakes her head softly, lowering it to try and meet my downcast eyes, her hand gently taking mine, _"You are not to blame for what he did...you did nothing wrong...this is his shame...not yours."_

Her words ping straight off me, she doesn't understand...

_"I know it feels like this will never get any better...but I promise you, it does...it takes time, and you need to talk to someone...I know it's hard but you need to talk about this...you can't keep it inside...you can't keep being too afraid to sleep...you need to try to eat, to drink...you need some support..."_

I feel even more worthless, now that she has seen straight through the act I so carefully constructed...

_"Why are you so afraid of anyone knowing what happened?"_

Her question reminds me...and I can't hope to hold back the tidal wave of emotion.

I gasp, as the tears start to roll, and my face crumbles, my agony all too clear...

_"I can't...not again...but it did...it really did...it really happened?...he really hurt me again?...it wasn't a nightmare?"_

She takes a deep breath, and shakes her head ever so softly...

Despite the last few days, despite the physical pain, despite the deluge of emotion, it's only now, as I face the world knowing my shame, that it becomes **real**...

The realization is literally breathtaking...as I frantically gasp for air...

She talks soothingly, rubbing my hand all the while, until she calms me again...

_"You can't do this all on your own...can I call someone for you? Family? A friend?"_

I just shake my head, _"There isn't really anyone...not for this...my family, we're not really close...and I stopped making friends, years ago...there is no one..."_

I'm vaguely aware that these words should be laced with sadness, but there is no sorrow in the facts...it just is...

She wrinkles her brow, biting her lip as she looks at me, _"What about John?"_

I shrug back at her, _"He's just a colleague...he's a nice guy and he wouldn't stand by and watch anyone be hurt..."_

My words were meant to explain his actions, but she doesn't seem convinced.

_"That explains him stopping it...maybe even bringing you to the hospital...but he waited all that time, he didn't want to leave without making sure you were ok...he only left because my partner convinced him you needed some time...and he pleaded for you to be told he wanted to help..."_

She looks at me questioningly...

_"He doesn't need **this**...he just feels sorry for me..."_

_"So you've heard from him?"_ she asks quietly.

_"A few texts...offering to pick up food, or drive me anywhere I need to go, some company..."_

She smiles gently, _"In my experience, people who only feel 'sorry', or are just 'good people', they help and then move on... **that** sounds like a friend..."_

I ponder her words...we never really speak outside of work, but I'm not that open, that easy to get to know...we do get on well, he is always supportive and friendly, always happy to see me, to chat, and I always felt like he was someone who would try to help me if he could...is he my friend?

But as quick as the idea starts to put down roots, I remember what he saw...what he interrupted...

The shutters smash down somewhere deep inside...

_"I can't ever see him again...without remembering...nothing that came before, matters now...all we will ever see when we look at each other, is **that** moment...I don't need a human reminder, I already have one... **No**!"_

A moment passes as the horrible reality starts to settle in...

She seems to understand that is the end of the conversation, as she nods softly.

_"It's your decision, I wouldn't want to put any pressure on you...just think about what I said? It is your decision who...but you really need to talk to someone? It helps. Do you still have the list I gave you?"_

I can't control the guilty glance at the drawer I shoved the unread list of helplines, specialized organizations, and therapists names into, as I nod...

 _"Okay,"_ is all she says...

Once more I'm slightly in awe of how this woman can make her point so clear, and yet allow me to feel in control, that my feelings matter...

The suggestion I so quickly disregarded, is now up for consideration once more...

_"How does talking about what I want to forget, help?"_

_"Because you can't forget it. Because every breath that makes your ribs ache, every movement that causes a wince of pain, every time it plays in your head again...reminds you...the feelings need an outlet..."_

She meets my eye as she speaks softly.

It's like she is inside me, like she knows how I feel. It's as if she has watched me struggle to find a position on the couch, that doesn't aggravate some bruise, some cut. It feels like she has witnessed me curl into the duvet I tug tightly under my chin, as if it can protect me from the horrors that reduce me to a sweating yet shivering, bawling, quivering, mess.

_"The helpline is 24 hour...it's completely in your control...it's anonymous...it really can help..."_

I sit in silent contemplation for a moment...how much can it really hurt? My eyelids feel like sandpaper against my tired eyes. It's like my brain is betraying me with the images it conjures up, they're so detailed, sometimes in my current state of exhaustion, it takes a few minutes to figure out they aren't even real. And my body betrays me; by trembling at memories, by allowing my empty stomach to rumble and to hurt despite me not being hungry, by allowing so much pain...How much worse can talking make it?

_"Maybe..."_

Again she nods at my compromise, my promise to consider it barely verbalized but yet understood...

I suck in another, tentative, deep breath, trying to push back the fear, the pain...

_"I think I'm going to have some soup and some crackers if you'd like to join me?"_

She smiles gently, _"I should get back...but you have my number? If you need to talk, please call me? I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're going to be okay..."_

 _"It's hard..."_ I whisper.

She nods, _"And you did nothing, there is nothing you could **ever** do to deserve this..."_

For the first time, this notion feels plausible...but the shame and guilt are ever-present...the shame at what I allowed to happen, the shame that I didn't really know how dangerous he was, despite so many clues, the shame that I couldn't protect myself, the burning shame that I couldn't stop him from taking something so personal, so intimate...It was my stupidity, my naiveté, my failure, my weakness...and **my** disastrous lapse in judgment, that I didn't see the monster lurking...

He behaved horribly, but I'm not innocent of all responsibility... I must accept my culpability...I didn't deserve this, but I didn't do enough to prevent it...I should have known what he was...

I thank her again, as I let her out, locking the door, then quickly setting the chain, before I decide to leave the key in the door to stop another key being pushed in from the outside...

I look longingly at the couch, but instead head for the kitchen, opening a can of soup and putting some into a bowl. As it turns in the microwave, I grab some crackers from the press, and a spoon.

When the hot soup, crackers and glass of water are laid out on the coffee table, I retrieve the bedclothes I hastily shoved into the closet, and wrap myself in them.

Looking at my phone, I sip slowly at the soup...

Maybe...


	6. Breakdown to Breakthrough?

I'm so consumed by the thoughts that fill my head; I barely even notice the soup I'm sipping on is too hot. It's not the heat or taste of the soup that draws my attention, but the odd sensation of my slightly burned tongue.

It feels like the odd, tender numbness, is a good analogy of everything...of how I really feel...

I'm conscious of a background sort of ache, but it feels slightly fuzzy and distant...almost like I'm trying to feel, or imagine, something that is just not familiar enough to me, to bring into clear focus...but this is my reality...

**This is really happening...**

He really hurt me again...

There's a small part of me that tries to celebrate this confirmation that I wasn't crazy; when I pleaded with my colleagues, my boss... hell, anyone who would listen, to help me stay safe...I wasn't imagining it...

But it's not really a victory, it's not something to celebrate...I was right, he **was** a danger, he **was** intimidating me...but the cost of me being proved right...

I can't hold back the tears again.

They roll down my cheeks in a silent, steady, stream.

Eventually the pain will fade, but what can I do then?

I've spent my entire adult life working towards this career path. I've sacrificed so much, both knowingly and unknowingly...and now I can't go back...

I don't know if any of my carefully honed skills, my very specialized knowledge, qualifies me to do anything else?

I have a university degree, I have language skills, I have huge amounts of experience that must be applicable to other areas of industry...but how do I translate any of it onto a CV...how do I make myself employable?

What do I want to do?

I'm swallowed by immense regret; how many times over the past few months have I sat, lost in this thought? How often have I idly threatened to find a new job, a new career?

It was never idle, not really...I just couldn't find an alternative...it wasn't even a real attempt to get anything to change, not anymore...I suppose I kind of accepted if I didn't leave, something was going to happen, that this could happen... Why didn't I find something new to do when there was a chance to stop this?...

A bitter chuckle escapes, turning into a sob with the next gasp for air...because this isn't right...

Of all the stupid reasons to have allowed this to happen...I chose to stand my ground on the absolute moral certainty that this is **wrong**...?

Maybe I'm a lot crazier than I knew...

I'm an adult! What sane adult still believes that life is fair?

**It is wrong though...**

I shouldn't be pushed out of the job I love...well, the job I once loved...

It's 2016...how, in this day and age, can this still be happening?

My eyes wander back to the phone.

Where pain and humiliation, shame and guilt, failed, disappointment and outrage may be just enough to push me...

I push the bedclothes aside and shuffle to the drawer; tentatively pulling out the list Olivia had mentioned such a short time ago...

All my bravado deserts me as I type the number of the 24-hour helpline that sits atop the short catalogue of organizations that promise to help...but I can only look at the digits on the display, huddling deeper into the bedclothes...

I have no concept of how long I study the series of numbers, a cold chill spreading through me, almost as if it were actually in my bloodstream, being pumped through me, by my treacherous body...

Slow shallow breaths do nothing to calm me, as I quickly delete the mocking numbers on the phone that long ago went dark...

The handset is discarded onto the table with the forgotten, barely touched, soup and unopened crackers...

I pull the bedclothes right up to my chin, trying to find some comfort in the warmth they promise.

Exhaustion chooses this moment to present itself, and despite my churning thoughts and the pain that grumbles in too many places to identify, my eyes slide shut, and my body succumbs to a light sleep...

I awaken sharply, fighting off an invisible assailant, pushing against the weight of the bedclothes as if they pose a real threat to me...my lungs fighting too hard against sore ribs...sweat dampening my hairline, my clothes...

The bedclothes that provided comfort and protection are now thrown aside as I struggle to sit up, every injury seemingly further exacerbated by my fight with an imaginary foe...but very quickly the sweat starts to cool on my skin, and I start to tremble from the cold...reluctantly, I once more find temporary refuge in the pile of blankets...

As I shrug the bedding tighter around me, the list flutters to the floor...

It pulls my eye, sucking all my attention to where it lies; it's whiteness in stark contrast to the dark wood of the floor...

I can't say what drives me to pick it up, and snatch the phone into my hastily made cocoon...

The nerves I felt earlier as I typed the series of numbers into the phone are no less...but this time I hit send before I can rethink it...

_"Hello, Rape Crisis Helpline, this is Toni speaking..."_

Her words make my head spin...and fear and panic win out...

 _"I'm sorry I don't want to waste your time..."_ I garble, barely comprehensibly, before hanging up...

Immediately I'm stuck between disappointment at my cowardice, and guilt at maybe preventing someone deserving from accessing such a service...

The thud of my heart slowly returns to normal but the despair shows no signs of abating...

I lie, wrapped in my blankets, fighting off the visions of what I could have done to save myself from ...this...until I can't take anymore...

I've heard it said, that stress releases a hormone that constricts your blood vessels; contracts the heart muscles; stimulates the adrenal gland, and when you stay in that state for a long period, the vessels begin to shred; the heart permanently constricts; the intestines, the immune system shut down...I can't speak to these symptoms, but it feels like you hit a point, that the desperation shreds you...to where you can't even recognize who you once were...

That's where I am...someone who is unrecognizable, even to myself...as my hand reaches for the phone once again...

_"Good Evening, Rape Crisis, my name is Andi,...hello?...can I help?"_

_"I don't know..."_ I croak, the words barely intelligible...

_"I know this isn't an easy number to call...take your time..."_

_"It feels like I'm admitting defeat...but...I just can't...it's too hard..."_

_"Do you want to tell me what has you feeling like this?"_ she asks softly...

After babbling already, I'm conscious of trying to sound more eloquent, but my mouth refuses to obey my wishes...

_"A guy I work with... **worked** with...he...he hurt me...again...and the police officer gave me this number..."_

_"The police officer gave you this number?"_ she echoes carefully, and I become aware that she is probably trying to figure out if this happening now...

 _"A few days ago..."_ I add quickly. _"And today I met with the ADA, and somehow it all feels even more real...he's going to be charged...and I just realized I can't go back to work..."_

_"My name is Andi, what can I call you?"_

_"I thought I didn't have to give my name..."_ I panic...

_"You don't...it's completely anonymous...I just didn't know how to address you...it's not problem at all...you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to...It sounds like you've had a lot to deal with...can you tell me, have you seen a doctor, had any medical help?"_

_"Yeah...a colleague... a friend...brought me to the hospital..."_

It sounds ridiculous, I know I'm calling this helpline for help because of what has happened, but it's not...his actions...that have pushed me to this point, it's the aftermath...

I've seen so many TV shows tackle this issue, ...sexual assault...some of them have even handled it well, but this is the bit that they all seem to fall down on...the attack is undeniably horrific, but it only lasts a short time...it's what comes after that is the real struggle...the guilt, the shame, all these things that on TV are encompassed with tears and some well worn clichés. How often have we seen a TV character huddled crying in a shower or bath? I'm aware that as I am belittling this image, I too, did something similar; maybe it has become a blanket scene, universally understood to represent the beginning of the **"after"** ... it is a brutal unhidden truth, a hint at the deeper effects that are harder to show in 15 second scene?

_"It hurts...not just the bruises, the physical stuff...I feel all of the things that people insist aren't true...I feel like I didn't do enough to protect myself...like my judgment is unreliable...I don't trust myself..."_

These confessions were unintended, whispered...and as soon as the words have left my lips I wish I could take them back...

_"How can I allow a few minutes to change who I am? Why is this the bit that no one has a checklist for? There's plenty of advice about what to do immediately after...to seek medical help...to consider calling the police...but what do you do then? When you have done the exam, given the statement... "_

_"I guess that's why we're here...to try to help with the 'what comes next'...there is no one size fits all answer...maybe we can help you figure out what is best for you?..."_ is her soft response.

Maybe this is why Olivia encouraged me to talk?

I had completely misunderstood...I thought it was all about regurgitating the story of my attack until it no longer held the same power...but maybe it's more about externalizing the stuff that is warring away inside me...

 _"What do you think comes next?"_ she asks...

Somehow this is not what I expected...I expected a raft of hackneyed clichés...a soft voice comforting me with ridiculously unimaginative and impersonal platitudes.

_"Everyone finds out..."_

I didn't give the words permission, they just found their own way...

_"I know I shouldn't care... **he** hurt **me**...but..."_

She takes a soft breath in, _"...but it doesn't really feel like that..."_

 _"No..."_ I softly agree, hating how my words belie my beliefs...no woman is responsible for anything like what happened to me...

_"But it's not your fault...you did nothing wrong...you got help...it sounds to me like you are doing really well..."_

This attempt to affirm my actions, serves only to make me feel even weaker as I huddle into the bedclothes on my couch...

_"Have you thought about maybe coming in and talking to one of our counselors? Maybe that could help...?"_

It's all too quick...

_"No...I have to go...thank you..."_

She seems to realize she has said the wrong thing as she quickly says _"Of course...we're here on this number 24 hours a day...please call us? Anytime?"_

 _"Thank you...good night..."_ I whisper, so eager to be off the phone I'm not sure she could even have heard the acknowledgement before I hung up...

In the silence that follows I realize how hard I am breathing, how fast my heart is pounding in my chest...and this emptiness is all too familiar...it reminds me of too many occasions when I have battled these feelings before...

It feels like I have wasted all of my life living in some version of this limbo...

I think back to the first time...I can't quite remember when the first stage of jumping when someone touched me, when someone startled me, passed? Did it last long? I remember snippets of how it felt...but even when it passed, I never regained that 'peace'...I've spent all the intervening years in some semblance of a protective crouch...

**Enough...**

I need to do something different now...

I don't want to go back to how things were...it wasn't this crisis that I've been sucked into...but it wasn't living either...

The phone that sits, forgotten, in my clasped hand, beeps and scares me so much it drops to the floor...

I scold myself for being so jumpy...it's just my phone...probably some junk email...but when I reach down and retrieve the phone it's a text...

_[Hey, hope it's not too late? Just finishing now...you were really missed here...the guys just aren't as good! Hope you are ok? Let me know if I can do anything? John]_

I read the text, tempted to just ignore it and pretend I was asleep when it arrived...but as I reread it, I want to do something else...

_[Nah, since when do I voluntarily go to bed early? It's way later than usual, how come so late?]_

I've barely finished typing when my message is being read and the bubbles show on the message screen...

_[The usual reasons...]_

_[Ah right, so you mean somebody screwed up again? So was it your end or mine this time?]_

_[Both... if you can believe it?]_

And for the first time in days I laugh...

_[Ha! Funny, but it's not that hard to believe...]_

The bubbles seem to stay on the screen for a long time, as I await an answer...

_[I'm glad you answered... How are you?]_

I now understand why the answer took so long, he was afraid to send it...and I try to fight my instinct to send back a sharp _"fine"_ and end the conversation...

_[Had the cops and the ADA today...was pretty tough...]_

I look at the words I've typed, wanting to delete them...until I realize I do want to send them, I want to take the chance...maybe I need to talk a little...so I hit send quickly...nerves bubbling up immediately as I see the message has been read...

_[I can't begin to imagine...I spoke to a lawyer...Barba...he seemed like a pretty good guy. Were they tough on you?"]_

_[Nah, they were really supportive...yeah that was the guy...he was actually really good...it's just that I guess it's all gotten real...]_


	7. Investigation

There is only so long that you can spend...cut off from the world...hiding away from reality...days passing by with nothing more than a few hours disturbed sleep to separate them...

When even the meager amounts of food you manage to force down have dwindled your food supply to the point where a grocery store trip just can't be avoided any longer...

Unwilling to allow the world a glimpse of what is my true reality, I shower, pull on clothes that are just about, fit to leave the house in, and arrange my hair carefully, to hide the marks and bruises as much as possible...

I feel such panic as I pull on a coat and reach for the door, that I begin to believe I just can't do it...

I know he isn't here...he isn't just outside the door waiting to pounce on me...he isn't in the store...there is likely no threat whatsoever, inherent in a grocery store trip...but...the fear is still there...trying to control every part of my life, of me...

I can't allow this...panic...this fear...to rule my life...

I need groceries...I need to not be so...pathetic...it's just not so easy to do...

As has become my habit, for so many years, I try to shake off my feelings, forcing them down...pushing myself to just take the next step...then another...hoping desperately that eventually each step takes me closer to feeling...somehow different...somehow **better**...

When I stumble through the door, not long later, balancing a couple of grocery bags, there's no sense of achievement...only disappointment at myself, for once more, making such a small thing into a huge issue...

A quick look around my home; at the provisions that litter the kitchen, that I'm trying to sort, pushes me into considering my situation...I don't want to go back, but I can't live for an extended period without working...and I have no other options...

Yet another tough realization, drops me onto the stool that sits at the breakfast bar beside me...every time it feels like I understand my reality, another body blow smashes into me...

**I have no options...**

Long term, maybe I could retrain...I could find a new career...but now?... Now, I can return to work or... not work...

And not working...may be enough in of itself, to completely decimate whatever tiny shred of sanity, of confidence, I have left...

But what damage will trying to tamp down the effects of what has happened do?

How do I face the people who I work with? The people who ignored my pleas for help when there was still a possibility to save me...

How can I go back to that same place?

How can I trust those same people?

How can I trust myself?

Maybe it's a blessed relief, or an unwelcome intrusion, but my phone summons me from the pocket of my discarded jacket...

The incoming number is showing clearly, but it's unfamiliar, and for a second my mind flashes back to all the late night, number withheld, calls that scared me so much last time...the ringing is insistent though, dragging my thoughts back to the present, and with great trepidation I accept the call, by means of a barely whispered _"Hello?..."_

_"This is Rafael Barba at the District Attorney's Office, we met a few days ago Miss..."_

I quickly interrupt him, wondering if he thinks me so addled that I could possibly have forgotten...

 _"Of course..."_ but then the icy tendrils of fear start to wrap around me, halting me instantly...

 _"How are you?"_ he enquires softly...

I want to tell him I'm fine, but he knows how much of a lie that is, from the other day's performance, so I opt for a semi-truthful, _"...It's hard...but I'm ok! Is there news?"_

_"We've continued our investigations since we last spoke, would it be possible to speak to you? Maybe today, if it suits?"_

His request reminds me that I have no idea what time it is, or even what day, as I quickly check the display on my phone...10:52am...Monday...

I nod to myself _"What time?"..._

Hearing my own weak voice, I'm conscious of how little control I have over the course of my life...

I hear him flicking through paper, _"How about three o clock? You could come to my office or I could come to your apartment?"_

I don't want to see him at all, I'm so scared of what he will say, but I also want to make him believe I can be a good witness, so I force myself to tell him _..."I'll come to your office..."_

_"Thank you...I'll send you on my address...I'll see you this afternoon so?"_

_"Yes Mr. Barba. Thank you. Goodbye."_

I vaguely hear him echo my goodbye as he hangs up, but my brain is already too busy scrambling through the possibilities for why he needs to see me...

I'm grateful to be already sitting, as my head drops forward, my body braced, as if for a physical blow, while the potential meanings of this meeting buffet me back and forward.

What if he can't make a case? If, after reviewing the evidence, he just doesn't believe me? What if something is wrong with the evidence? What if the samples, taken in the hospital were somehow contaminated...or lost?

I try to tell myself that he may have good news...but every bone in me, feels...knows...it's not. The phone call just didn't lend itself to that belief...

I try to distract myself, by putting away the abandoned groceries...but when I find myself at the refrigerator, for the umpteenth time, looking at a bottle of shower gel, I didn't particularly need, sitting in the door alongside the milk, I admit defeat.

I'm sure the only item I bought, that truly needed refrigeration, was the carton of milk...the rest can just wait...

Unsure of how to fill in the next few hours, I turn on the shower...stepping back to watch it heat...

 **No!** A bath...

Maybe I can relax, a little, in the tub...?

My arm reaches in to turn off the flow of water, the harsh stream stinging my skin...causing me to jump...

Of all that fills my mind, the shower setting is unimportant, and I let any partly formed questions about how long it has been like that, fall away as I fill the tub instead.

The steam that quickly fills the bathroom is comforting, its warmth reminiscent of the cocoon of blankets that has been my refuge...as the mirror, the taps, every metal surface fogs over, there is nothing left unveiled to confront me with things best forgotten...or avoided...

When the tub is full, I pull my clothes off, quickly stepping into the water as I tug the last of my clothing away... Instinct makes me pull my foot back out...but knowing that the heat will only soothe my sore body, clean the scrapes and cuts I try not to catch sight of, I force myself to slip down into the water. Unwittingly grimacing, as the heat reddens my skin, until the initial sting passes, and the warmth is left to envelop me.

I sink all the way back, allowing the water to lap gently against my bottom lip.

All too quickly, the initial warmth seems to dissipate...my body adapting to the heat much faster than I wanted, I grab the exfoliating mitt and start to scrub...the skin flushing even more, as I try to wash away my fears, with the dirt...

It's clear I've scrubbed too hard when a couple of the cuts, again, start to bleed lightly...so I turn my attention to my hair... shampooing it three times until it squeaks satisfyingly...

I try to just relax in the water, but the warmth that once welcomed me is gone, and I'm very conscious of the dirt I scrubbed away, still floating around my cleaned body...I wrap a big towel around my body, oblivious to the end of it dipping into the water as I step out...

Rubbing my skin dry as I move, I shuffle to my bedroom, pulling clothes out of the closet, the dirty ones finding their way into the overflowing laundry hamper...

It's only now, dry and dressed, that I realize I have to go into the center of the city, to the DA's office...it's not a short couple of blocks like it was, earlier, to the grocery store...

I debate taking a taxi to make the journey easier, until I consider being trapped in a car with a stranger...

I can't do it...

For the first time ever, I conclude the subway to be safer...preferring the anonymity, and relative safety, of a throng of faceless people, to being confined in a small space, alone, with an unfamiliar driver...

I try to plan which trains I need to take, and how long I should allow...so I won't be late, but I don't want to be early either, to have to try and fill in time...out there...

Every glance at the clock, makes me think it has stalled, it doesn't feel possible that such a short time has passed...I try to make every tiny, everyday, action, more conscious...to give me a feeling of time passing properly, instead of hours flying by in a moment, or moments that last for hours...I try to care about how my hair is styled, but settle for it being clean and dry...and draw it back into a ponytail.

I inadvertently, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door I have closed and locked, despite being the only person in the apartment...I look shocking...pale-faced, my body lost in over sized clothes, the bruises on my face all too clear when my hair is pulled back...I release it down immediately...knowing though, that the marks aren't really hidden...

My stomach rumbles, and I gratefully, set to making a grilled cheese sandwich, glad of the mundane task, recognizing that my body needs fuel, that I should eat, but still not feeling any hunger...there's nothing wrong with the food I try to force myself to consume, but there's also no taste...no pleasure... I'm not willing to faint in front of the lawyer again though, so I persevere...

It takes a lot longer than it should, but I finish the meal, swallowing each bite down with gulps of water...all the while, trying to build a strategy for what I can do, to make myself the best witness I can be, to convince the lawyer of the truth of my accusation...

But that's all it is...an accusation...

When it comes right down to it, when all the emotion is stripped back...this is just me making an accusation...against a man who is telling a completely different story...

I flick the TV on, allowing the noise of some cookery show, to attempt to drown out the fears that won't shut up...until finally I can leave the house...I'm not glad to be going, but I need to get it over with...

The travel blurs by; in a mass of side steps, trying to escape the human contact that is inescapable; small jumps, when a fellow commuter inadvertently knocks against me, but finally I arrive outside the correct building...

It feels like hours have passed trying to get across the city but when I check my phone its only 2:36...and I huddle into a quiet corner against the building, out of the flow of foot traffic, and shivering, counting down until the self imposed time of 2:55, when I can go inside...

I didn't factor in enough time to find the individual office once inside the building, and find myself running, trying desperately to find the right door...was I told left, then right?

When I finally fall upon the correct place I'm late...

So much for trying to prove my dependability...I try not to cry...

His assistant takes my stuttered name, and leads me straight into the office...he immediately stands up, walking around the desk, stretching out his hand to shake mine...

 _"You're freezing!"_ He announces as my hand slips into his, and he walks to the door, _"Can we get some coffee please?"_

Somehow I'm surprised at how softly he asks, it's not an order, it's a gentle request...the woman who showed me in, smiles lightly, nodding as he turns back to me...

 _"Sorry, please sit down..."_ he gestures at the chairs, opening the jacket he only buttoned as he stood to greet me.

 _"Lieutenant Benson will be here any moment..."_ he says, sitting into the chair beside me, _"Thank you for making the time...I hope it didn't inconvenience you?"_

I shake my head slightly, my nerves paralyzing my tongue...

He stands, pulling some files around the desk, until we hear a gentle tap at the door, he stalks to it with an apologetic look to me, for the interruption; his face completely relaxes as he opens the door to Olivia...

 _"I'm sorry I'm late..."_ she announces to both of us, pulling off her coat. She seems to notice the files pulled in front of the chair beside mine, and quickly pulls over another chair from the table, putting it slightly behind and between the 2 chairs already in place...as he retakes his seat he turns slightly to her, as do I...

 _"How are you?"_ she asks, deliberately meeting my eye...

Before I'm forced to answer, the woman who showed me into the office, returns with a tray of coffee...Olivia raises a discrete, questioning, eyebrow at the lawyer...

 _"It's very cold outside...I thought we could do with the warmth..."_ he says softly, and a quick glance between them reminds me how they seem to be able to communicate silently...

She nods, passing me a cup of coffee, then offering me cream and sugar, before pouring a cup for herself and the lawyer...

The warm cup grasped in my hands gives me a moment's confidence, as we all sit once more...

 _"What do you need to talk to me about?"_ I ask quietly.

He puts his cup down, reaching for the files and opening a notepad on his lap...

_"I have some more questions for you..."_

I just nod my consent...

_"I'm sorry but I need to clarify some details...How did you come to be isolated in that area with Mr. Smith last week?"_

I take a deep breath, but a pain is already wrenching my guts, as I face having to explain every tiny move, to defend every thought, every action once more...

_"I didn't know he was on-site...I went to get some equipment I needed to do my job..."_

He scribbles something, _"And would the knowledge of his presence have made any difference, had you known?"_

I nod.

_"How would it have changed your actions?"_

_"I wouldn't have left the main area...where everybody was...alone..."_

_"And is that typically how you dealt with working with him, recently?"_

Again I just nod...

_"Did that interfere with how you did your job?"_

A sickening feeling spreads through me, as I realize someone is calling my ability to do my job into question...

_"I didn't make a big scene, I was nervous, I think it was pretty clear...and I wouldn't leave the main area...sometimes I might move out of his way...but I worked...I did what I was supposed to..."_

Olivia can see how upset I'm getting, _"That can't have been easy...it must have been extremely difficult for you?"_

I know she means well but I can't even acknowledge her...I just keep looking straight at him...

He scrubs his hand across his face, _"I'm sorry, I need answers to these questions..."_

I just nod tightly at him.

He seems to understand I want to get it over with, and takes a deep breath, _"Did you ever have any type of relationship with Mr. Smith?"_

I nearly vomit at the thought of it _..."Relationship? You mean...? No! NO! I tried to make friends with him...when he first...I thought if he liked me, if he thought of me as a friend, he'd stop...I tried to be friendly...I never...NO!"_

He nods his head.

_"Did you ever socialize with Mr. Smith outside of work?"_

_"NO!"_ I shake my head vehemently, _"except for a couple of work based social occasions...a fundraiser, and the like...I never saw him outside of work..."_

I know that my desperation, my fear, is starting to show through clearly...as tears start to flow again...

 _"Why are you asking these questions? What has been said?"_ I plead.

He places the file he holds, onto his lap, on top of the notepad he scribbled every answer in...looking me in the eye

_"He is pushing his claim that you had a previous relationship, that you tried to rekindle...and he refused, but you pursued him, and threatened to accuse him of attempted rape if he didn't agree...he says that he reluctantly had rough sex, at your request, that day, that you coerced him into it, and when you were 'found', you claimed rape as some sort of payback...He has a witness to the original complaint you brought internally in your workplace..."_

I bet I could name his witness... but even though I half expected something of this sort...it did nothing to prepare me...I feel physical pain as the words settle...I curl up into as much of a ball as the chair allows, my knees pulled into my chin, my feet trying to grip the edge of the seat, my arms encircling my legs...all worries about dignity, fallen by the wayside, as I struggle to just get through this...

He gently puts a hand on Olivia's arm to stop her intervening...he gives me a moment to absorb what he has just told me...

_"I don't believe that is what happened...I spoke to him...well more accurately, I spoke to his lawyer, he barely spoke...but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't prepare you for what he will say...I need to know how you answer these accusations he is hurling...and we still have the witness who walked in on the assault..."_

_"John..."_ I whisper.

He checks his papers and nods softly _..."John"_

 _"What did he say? What did John see?"_ I plead again...

He flicks the page of his notebook, _"He said that the area he found you in, was being used for storage and for extra equipment, he went to get some piece of equipment and heard some noises, it sounded like fighting...he heard a woman crying, pleading..."_

He looks to me, knowing how the words he's saying are almost worse for me to hear...as Olivia reaches for my hand...

_"...he immediately thought of you, because as far as he was aware, you were the only woman there...he said you were clearly being hurt...you were...'making pained little cries'...it took him a minute to find you... but that Mr. Smith was on top of you, clearly restraining you...you were struggling against him, crying...he said you were clearly saying 'no', over and over...that he tackled Mr. Smith to get him off you, that he could see you were bleeding from numerous cuts, you were bruised and clearly terrified..."_

_"He saw...?"_ I can't find the words to finish my sentence but they don't seem to be necessary, he knows what I'm asking...

_"He saw a partly naked man, on top of a crying, struggling, restrained, partly clothed woman..."_


	8. He saw..........

_"He saw...?"_ I can't find the words to finish my sentence but they don't seem to be necessary, he knows what I'm asking...

_"He saw a partly naked man, on top of a crying, struggling, restrained, partly clothed woman..."_

I look at the lawyer, open mouthed...unable to pre-empt, to anticipate, the end of the sentence he is trying to save me from...all at once, needing to hear it and yet, completely unable to understand it...

The man in front of me doesn't break eye contact, despite the fact I'm visibly shaking, and tears roll down my face...his face softens and I catch a glimpse of the man behind the suit...

_"...John...understood what was happening...he knew that he was interrupting a rape..."_

The words shatter me...I feel whatever it is that makes up the core of who a person is, break into pieces in a way that is usually only seen in sci-fi movies, where a body can be vaporized, or shattered like glass, at the press of a button...

I can't breathe...

Olivia is crouched in front of me, holding my hand, trying to calm me...but the words I have just heard, have lodged deep inside me and are stopping the air from getting into my lungs...

I knew...really...deep down, somewhere in the depths of me, I knew that John realized, understood, what he fell upon...I mean, he's a smart guy...and what he saw, probably has very limited, possible, explanations...how else can you interpret it?...but the confirmation...is agonizing...

He was, by no means, the first person to witness something... wrong... happening... why, how, was John the one to see it for what it was?

Somehow, this validation, despite possibly strengthening my case, does nothing other than sicken me...it's like him, having seen what happened, makes it **more** real, **more** disgusting...like the action that caused me so much pain is now, exponentially worse...because John witnessed it...

The filth, that contaminated me, when I was...hurt...is crawling across my skin again...my hands, hopelessly, trying to rub it away...

My shame is insurmountable...

_"I'm sorry...I've made a mistake...I need to withdraw my statement..."_

For the first time, my voice sounds unequivocal...as I push the chair back, making space to stand, I grab my bag, knocking something over on the desk, as I try to hoist it onto my shoulder, not even turning my head to check it, and flee the office...

I barely have time to see the shocked stares that follow my escape...as I bolt for the elevator, before anyone can follow...

Cowering in the corner, praying that the car goes straight down, with no stops, no people...there is no thought of my destination...I'm dazed, intent only, on evading the situation. I need to get out, unconsciously trying to outrun the feebleness, the powerlessness, the fragility, that left me unable to stop **that**...without drawing someone else in to be faced with it, to fight for me, when I couldn't stand up for myself...

I burst out of the elevator...running for the door...people scurry out of my way, no doubt, wary of the crazy lady darting for some intangible, non-existent, escape or salvation...

The cold that was so biting when I entered the building earlier, is unnoticed now, my legs propelling me...I have no idea where...I just run...away from all of it...

Until I can run no more, there is no more left inside me...

I find myself looking out at the water, my lungs burning, my legs aching, my eyes stinging...

I slump over the railing, trying to find some support in its icy solidity...

The frantic gulps of air quickly become racking coughs...then sobs, as the thoughts I had run so hard from, make it clear they have gone nowhere...

Luckily, I spot a run-down bench a few steps away and stumble my way to it...the paint is peeling, the seat is daubed in graffiti, it's wet and freezing, but it is more welcome than I can begin to explain, as I almost fall onto it, my body bent double, shaking, as I release all the emotion I had tried so hard to corral...

My phone buzzes intermittently, but its demands fail to penetrate the anguish I'm feeling...

I have no concept how long I've been sitting here, how many boats and bikes have passed before my unseeing eyes, but eventually the frigid day makes its presence felt, to a degree where I can no longer, ignore it...my coat is pulled tight around me, my body still hunched over, but the icy wisps of February wind cannot be held out...

Just as I try to figure out exactly where I am, and how I am going to get home, a familiar voice softly calls my name...

 _"Can I sit down?"_ she asks gesturing to the bench...

 _"It's cold..."_ I whisper in answer, unsure myself, if I'm denying her request or not...

She seems unsure, _"It is...my car is just there?"_

I think for a moment but the promise of some shelter and maybe, heat, is too much to pass up, as I nod softly...

She smiles, nodding gently, leading the way to the car that would be ticketed, were it not for the 'NYPD' stamped clearly on the pulled down visor...

She opens the passenger door for me, before climbing into the driver's side, quickly turning on the engine...the heater roars to life...

 _"You must be freezing?"_ she asks quietly.

I can only nod...

_"How did you know where I was?"_

She shrugs lightly, _"I didn't, I knew you were upset...that you left the DA's office, and would probably not be too far...there aren't many quiet places in this part of the city...it was a guess, but your home was going to be my next stop..."_

She must have gone searching, looking for me...now I feel guilty for my actions...

_"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to inconvenience you...and I'm sorry for wasting your time...I'm fine..."_

She looks at me with true empathy _..."You didn't inconvenience me, this is my job...it is my job to make sure you are ok...and please don't think you are wasting my time..."_

 _"I meant it...I want to drop the charges..."_ I whisper, not raising my head, refusing to meet her eyes...

A moment passes, and though I'm immensely grateful she doesn't try to convince me otherwise, it surprises me that she doesn't answer...when I look up to see if she is angry with me, she is looking at me carefully _..."Can you tell me why?"_

This is the last thing I expected her to say...I expected to be berated, to be threatened with being charged myself, for filing a false report or wasting police time, but instead she looks upset...

_"I thought I could do it...I, maybe, even wanted to do it...to show myself I thought I was worth... **something**...but...it's too much...to have to defend every thought, every action again...it's too much...I can't..."_

She takes a deep breath, _"I know the questions Barba is asking are horribly personal, that they make you feel like he is questioning you, and what you did or didn't do, but he isn't...he just needs to know how you answer them...he wants to fight for you, **with** you..."_

 _"I know..."_ I whisper between soft sniffles...

_"What John saw...upsets you...a lot?"_

I nod tightly, unsure how to put it into words _..."I don't know how to explain it..."_

Her head leans back against the headrest, and for a second I see the woman... _"Having someone see it...makes it more real...you feel even weaker, even more shame...maybe?"_

I don't know how, but once more, she just seems to know what is going on in my head...I nod...

_"I don't see how he could look at me, talk to me, without remembering...he **saw**..."_

_"Have you not spoken to him? At all?"_

I shrug slightly, _"A little...a few texts...after you came to see me with Mr. Barba...he told me he had spoken with Mr. Barba too...he told me he wants to help if he can, even if it's just a ride, or someone to listen..."_

_"But you haven't spoken about what happened?"_

I shake my head... _"I knew...really...that he had seen...that he knew..."_

She nods slightly _"I know it's incredibly hard...but maybe you need to talk to him...maybe you both need to..."_

The tears start to roll down my face again... _"Instead of ignoring the big pink elephant in the room..."_

She chuckles slightly... _"I think that maybe it can actually grow bigger in the silence...the fear..."_

I sniffle, gratefully accepting the tissues she holds out to me _... "He's a nice guy...this is probably upsetting him too...I don't want him to think I'm angry at him somehow..."_

John's face, as he pulled him off me, flashes before me...

_"But he looked...so...disgusted..."_

She takes my hand gently, rubbing it softly when she feels how cold I am... _"When?"_

_"When he tackled...stopped...I know if I went to court I'd have to, but I can't say his name..."_

_"When John stopped the attack? He looked disgusted?"_ she whispers.

I'm so grateful for this small gesture. Helping me find a way to say what I'm trying to, without the name I just can't force past my lips, without making me feel ridiculous...

 _"When John stopped the attack..."_ I echo quietly...

_"Maybe he was disgusted...but not by you...by your attacker...by what **he** was doing...because **he** was hurting you...I don't know John very well, but he seems to be your friend, he seems to truly, want to help...I know it won't be an easy conversation, and I know how tempting it is to put it off...but maybe talking to him could help both of you?"_

I nod softly...still terrified at the prospect...

_"And don't think about the case anymore today...you don't have to make any decisions now... Let me take you home and we can talk about the case in a couple of days?"_

She reaches for her seatbelt but looks to me for my consent...

 _"Thank you...travelling, is a little scary right now..."_ I confess in a whisper...

_"But you did it...and the way you answered his questions, impressed Barba..."_

I smile a little at the thought of the smart lawyer, being impressed by my meltdown, and flight out of his office...

I click on my seatbelt as she pulls into traffic, rolling my eyes at her last statement...

I suppose he wants to hear consistency, and plausible rebuttal to the claims...my attacker...is making...maybe there was a little of that in my pre-flight words...

_"Would he still consider prosecuting my case? Even after I ran out?"_

She tries to make eye contact as she is driving, her hand slipping over to me when she finds she can't... _"He understands how hard this is...trust me, he has had worse meetings...he wants to help you...he will always give you a minute, if you need one...Rafael hasn't stopped working on your case...he doesn't want to cause you pain, but he needs to make sure you are prepared...because you are right, trial feels like you are on trial too, but you aren't... **he** is the one the jury are judging..."_

_"Even when it feels like everyone is judging me?"_

She smiles softly _..."Especially then... **I know**...how hard it is..."_

I try not to let my head shoot up at her words...did she mean she **knows**?

I look at her carefully, desperate to know what she meant but also not willing to invade her privacy...

After a few more minutes of silence, she pulls in, directly outside my building, _"I meant it, I **know** what it feels like...and you would never think of me as weak...why does what happened to you make you weak?"_

I try not to let my mouth fall open as I digest her words...

_"No you are not weak, and you have been so kind, so helpful to me...as has Mr. Barba..."_

She smiles embarrassedly at me, _"That's why we are here...Go on! Try to get warm! Try to get some sleep...maybe go to bed...?"_

I don't feel the need to dispute her deduction, _"Bed seems somehow ...vulnerable..."_

She nods slightly...

_"But maybe..."_

I wave gently to her as I walk in the front door.

My head is filled with everything she has said...I'm amazed and very honored by her personal admission. I'm sure it's not something she does often...and that means even more to me...

She is right, I don't see her as weak...not at all...

I'm still not sure I can go through with the case, but I feel a little stronger for speaking to her...

I make my way back into my apartment immensely glad it is warm...

I open a can of soup that sits on the counter from my earlier grocery trip, tipping it into a bowl and throwing it into the microwave...

While it heats, I pull on a clean pair of pajamas, thick socks, and a warm hoody.

I put my laptop on the bed, and go retrieve the soup and some crackers, not bothering with a tray...I don't allow myself the time to second guess as I dive under the quilt, once the bowl is safely on the nightstand.

Trying to calm the flutter of nerves, I reach for my dinner, enjoying the feeling of warmth sliding down my throat...

The soft mattress is welcoming as I pull the covers higher, and the couch cushion seams that dug into me, are forgotten as I settle down in blissful comfort...

I regularly look to my phone as I eat...mulling over my thoughts about John...

I can't deny that I'm terrified about what he thinks of me...or that I'm worried about what seeing him will bring me back to...but I do also fear that what he saw has hurt him...

I'm still not sure if you could call what we were before, friends...but he is definitely trying to be my friend now...and god, but I really need one...

I wish I were the same brazen person I once was...that I could send him a message and tell him what I'm worried about...but that's just too much now...

I know he will probably text at some stage this evening...we have fallen into that routine over the last few days...I try to console myself with attempting to start the conversation...

The strains of the day have taken their toll and I'm exhausted, and slowly my body surrenders to sleep...and when I awaken in the darkness, for a second, I'm terrified...where am I?

I recognize my bedroom and flick on the light, checking that I am safe, taking a deep breath...

The bedside clock tells me it 8:56pm...

I try to relax into the bed once more, but when I can't settle, I shuffle back out to couch...allowing the TV to provide a soothing background noise...

About an hour later a text arrives

_[Hey! God I hate conferences! How has your day been? John]_

_[Yeah somehow they always mean you barely see daylight at all...meeting with the DA, bit rough...]_

_[Are you ok?]_

I don't really know how to do this, how exactly do you bring up the subject ...?

 _Can I ask you a question?._..God no! Delete that quickly...

 _Do I not make you think of...remember?..._ Fuck! That's worse

I have no idea how to start this...and then I realize how long I have been typing and deleting, and how I'm sure he can see my hesitance...

As the phone beeps softly, I see he has tried to help...

_[I'm here if you want to talk...]_

I feel so weak for not being able to bring up the subject I want to talk about, but settle for trying to do it indirectly...

_[It's really hard...all the questions...the lawyer tries to be kind but...]_

_[HE is saying all kinds of crazy shit...?]_

I really appreciate the lack of a name, I know it's silly but the thought it shows, touches me deeply...and the

fact that his immediate disbelief is so clear comforts me.

_[Yeah]_

_[I'm sorry...]_

_[We talked about you too...]_

I expected a delay while he struggled to find something to say but almost immediately my phone beeps...

_[You saw my statement? I hope it was ok?]_

Before I can formulate any answer; another beep...

_[I didn't know how to talk to you about it...]_

This admission makes me smile, and banishes some of my nerves...

_[I didn't know how to bring up the subject either...I didn't see your statement... the lawyer told me some of what it said...I'm really sorry you got dragged into this, and that you had to see that...]_

This time the wait for a response is longer, it looks like he is typing, but the fear that I've said the wrong thing starts to creep back in...

_[Please don't say sorry to me...I'm the one who should be saying sorry...I'm sorry for not getting there quicker. I should have noticed you were missing...I hope the statement was ok? The detective, Fin, suggested that I shouldn't push you to talk about things, just to let you know I am here, when you are ready...]_

I sit reading and re-reading his answer, Olivia was so right...I can see how much he also needs to talk about this...but I'm still struggling to find my way so I decide to be honest...

_[This is hard...I've been worried about what you think of me now...and what you saw...]_

These are the words I need to say but hitting send is almost too hard...and when I do tap the screen, my stomach is rolling...


	9. Guilt

_[This is hard...I've been worried about what you think of me now...and what you saw]_

These are the words I need to say but hitting send is almost too hard...and when I do tap the screen, my stomach is rolling...

My heart thumps in my chest.

The phone shakes gently in my hand.

I want to know, no, I **need** to know...but it feels like I may not be strong enough to hear the answer, like one more ache will break me completely.

I try not to watch the screen, try not to hold my breath, but nothing can drag my eyes from the dots that tell me he is trying to answer...until it vibrates gently, and the fear overtakes everything... the dread forces me to squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

Now that I have an answer of some sort, I can't bring myself to look...

I feel like I've run a couple of flights of stairs, my breathing is uneven, and my heart is pounding...the temperature is constant but yet I find I'm sweating...it takes every last shred of courage I possess, to just look down...

But the tears filling my eyes and the shaking of my hand conspire to ensure that I can't read the words on the screen; they remain tantalizingly out of focus...as my mind starts to conjure worst case scenarios...

Resting the phone on the couch, I curl my hands into fists, angrily pushing away the tears that fall down my face, struggling to take measured, deep, breaths, **anything** to calm the nervous fire that is spreading through me.

I roll my neck slowly, trying to dissipate some of the tension that is pulling at the muscles, willing myself to just face the truth...

I try to convince myself; it's all very recent; time will fade the images that seem so indelible for him now; that how he feels now, can change, will change, with time...anything to cushion the inevitable blow...I reach, so tentatively, for the phone that seems only capable of heralding doom...

It vibrates softly again, and I nearly drop it, having to marshal all my nerve to read the **two** messages that now await...

_[I'm so sorry for what happened...that I didn't stop it...we should all have been watching out for you much more, but somehow despite you having told me...I just never really thought he'd touch you again...I feel so guilty for not doing something...Why would you worry about what I think of you? I'm the one should be worried what you think of me...]_

I barely breathe as my eyes devour the words...

_[I hate what that bastard did...I hate that you had to go through that...I'm not good at finding the right words, saying the right thing, you're the one who seems to always know the right things to do and say...You have so much more respect than you ever seem to realize...this doesn't change that, if that's what you're worried about?]_

For a moment, the analysis that never stops inside my head, is completely absent...the words, though understood, seem to have no real meaning, as they spread through my mind.

There is no huge emotional reaction.

There is almost no reaction at all, as I begin to reread the so, dreaded messages...

Yet it is only on about the third pass, that the words seem to take on a real meaning...

They feel **guilty**...he feels **guilty**...he's worried I hate him for not somehow stopping it...

It's not that they didn't care; they just didn't really believe he would touch me again...is that not exactly how **I** felt? I understand that feeling all too well...is that not the reason why **I** didn't do more... Is that **disbelief** , not the exact reason, that even as it was happening, I struggled to accept it... How could he try to hurt me **again**? It somehow, never really seemed possible...

I just sit; staring at the screen, so lost in my own pain, that time has lost all meaning, while I try to detangle the emotions and thoughts that threaten to bury me...

Only when the phone, still gripped tightly in my hand, rings, and drags me out of my head, do I realize how terrified, he must be too, waiting on my answer...

I don't even get a chance to say _"hello"_ before he is frantically trying to explain...

_"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you...I've been trying to think of how to talk about... what to say...what not to say... I tried to remember everything the detective told me...but it didn't come out right...I just..."_

_"John..."_ I interrupt softly, and immediately he shuts up, _"You didn't upset me, or say anything wrong...I should have answered you quicker, I should have known you would be nervous too, but... it just...I needed to try and take it in..."_

There are a few beats of silence, as we go in completely the opposite direction...both now, almost afraid to talk, in case the other wants to say something...

 _"I'm embarrassed..."_ I finally whisper. There is no thought behind my words, I just don't want him to feel any more guilt...and I can't stomach any more painful silence...

 _"Embarrassed?...I don't understand...why?",_ the confusion is clear in his voice.

I thought the reason for this feeling was evident; in my head it is so prevalent, I almost, can't see how someone couldn't understand it, so I find I have no idea how to explain...stumbling, stuttering, I hope that some sense is hiding in my incoherent rambling...

_"Embarrassed...that you saw...that I couldn't stop him...that I couldn't look after myself...that I let him..."_

I can't stop the tears that push their way out, as the words tumble out of my mouth.

I hear him gasp softly...

_"You didn't **let** him do anything...he **forced** you...you got hurt trying to stop him...he is so much bigger than you, and still you... **Fuck**!"_

The sobs I can't quiet push him so far off his train of thought, that he falls silent again...

When he finds his voice again, I can hear his upset...

_"I was afraid to upset you by talking about this, but I was also terrified you hated me...for not doing something...I never even thought you could feel like that...I'm so sorry...you did nothing wrong... **nothing**..."_

His voice is gentle now, but there is no doubt in his words, he takes a deep breath sighing gently...

_"I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing..."_

I want to tell him that he hasn't so far, that he is telling me the truth and it means so much more than I can explain, because even though this conversation bears no resemblance to any other we have ever had, it doesn't feel like he is treating me differently...but all I can do is cry, softly, into the phone I have pushed up to my ear...

_"I'm so sorry...that he hurt you...but you did nothing wrong..."_

This simple statement; the acknowledgment that I was hurt, and the gentle affirmation that it wasn't my fault, finally begin to really hit home. He understands the situation...he saw...he is being gentle and kind, but I don't feel as weak, as...broken...as I thought I would...this is the same man I knew **before**...and maybe he even still sees a fragment of who I was, in the emotional wreck I have become...

 _"I tried...I really tried...he was too big...too strong..."_ I wail between sobs...

 _"I know..."_ he tries to assure me...

 _"How... can... you... be...sure...?"_ I never meant to ask this, but the words slip out before I can stop them...

 _"I saw you fighting him..."_ is his reply. He barely even seems to need to consider the question...

_"But he's saying...that I...talked him into it...that I am just...acting hurt...that I wanted..."_

_"He's saying you wanted it? Are you fucking kidding me?"_ he bursts angrily, before worrying how I will interpret his anger, quickly trying to veil it in a softer voice, and more carefully chosen words... _"There wasn't a second that it looked like anything else...I'll never forget it... **never**...you didn't want _ _that...nobody could believe that you wanted **that**..."_

 _"I don't...want... **that**...to be what...you see...when..."_ the words are almost rendered incomprehensible by my upset...

He quickly stops me, _"Shit! That's not what I meant...at all..."_ he sounds, almost, frantic at the way his words are betraying him. How everything he says seems to be wrong...

I can hear the soft scrape of his stubble as he rubs his hand across his face in frustration...

_"...Is that what you're worried about?"_

His whispered words carry the weight of his realization, as if it is the first time the thought has occurred to him...

_"You're worried... **that** is what I'll see when I look at you?"_

He sounds shocked, incredulous, skeptical that he could possibly be understanding my stilted, sob-filled, muttering...

The sniffles and sobs seem to serve well enough as his answer, when no words are forthcoming...

_"God... **no!** Listen to me...That guy is a fucking animal...the amount of "suggestions" of how he should be dealt with...well you can imagine..."_

I can't help a sobbing chuckle, as I can imagine some of the more imaginative _"suggestions"_ that were probably offered by our colleagues...trying desperately, not to focus on the inadvertent confirmation, that I am, once again, the subject of **those** conversations...

_"...I can't forget... I wish I could...but what happened, **that** 's not who you are..."_

He speaks slowly, evenly, trying to make every word count...

 _"But ...what if... we are ...just... reminders... now...of **that**...for each other...?"_ I can't hold back the fear anymore...the words gushing out unplanned...

A deep sigh greets the question I never really wanted to ask...I know how horrible a position I've put him in...I feel guilty for asking so much of him...I wish I could take it back, but the words are out now, and like with so much of life, there is no take-backs...

Only the sound of his breathing assures me he hasn't hung up...

The over-analyzing that failed me earlier, goes into overdrive in the silence...Why did I ask that? Did I have to push him away too? Why do I always need to be right...that no one is completely on your side?

_"I don't know..."_

I can hear his disappointment in the quiet words, like he feels he has once again, failed me somehow...

_"I'm guess I'm afraid too, that every time you look at me, you'll hate me...for not doing more...and maybe you will...It's not possible to forget what happened...for either of us...I hate the thought that it's what you think of when you talk to me, see me...I don't know how to stop it, or change it...and I feel so useless! Just like with what happened...I feel so fucking useless..."_

I can't stop the shaking, or the tears, as he continues to speak. Every breath feels like it takes a herculean effort, I just don't have the strength for, any more...

_"I wish I could do... **anything**...I just want to do **something**...I don't want this to be something you have to deal with on your own...I don't know if maybe, in time, I won't just be a reminder...If you don't want to talk to me or see me...I understand...but maybe I can be someone you can talk to...because I **know** you didn't want what he did...I saw you, I **know** how he hurt you, how you fought, how you were still fighting...you don't need to worry if I believe you, you know I do, because I saw..._

_When I was waiting, in the hospital, all I could think was...how incredibly strong you are...and how ashamed of myself I am...you told me how scared you were before; how little support you were getting; how you were having to work with that animal...and I was too worried...about saying the wrong thing...about asking questions...I didn't know what to say...I didn't know how to deal with the subject...I promised myself in the waiting room, I wouldn't make the same mistakes again..."_

I'm exhausted, the flood of emotion sucks my last reserves of energy dry...

The words he seems to think are inadequate are oddly, hugely upsetting and incredibly comforting at the same time...

 _"I didn't want you to see..."_ I whisper.

 _"You did nothing wrong..."_ he tries to reassure me, _"...but maybe because I saw too, he may get what he deserves?"_

I can hear the hope in his soft, questioning, statement and I feel my stomach sink...

_"I told the lawyer...today...I don't want to press charges..."_

The silence that greets my admission, is breathtaking...

_"I can't...it's too hard...the questions..."_

I'm trying to defend the indefensible decision I made in desperation earlier...but the silence is almost complete...

_"I can't even begin to imagine how hard it is...I don't want to see him get away with what he did...I don't want to know he is free...but it's what you want, that is important...are you sure?"_

I shake my head...god no! I'm not sure of anything.

_"I don't know...it was so hard last time...and that was only an internal investigation...I don't think I can do it...I couldn't cope with the lawyer's questions...I had a meltdown...I ran out of the office...the only thing I've said that sounded like me, since all of this, was that I didn't want to pursue it... but...I'm so afraid of **him**...if I do nothing..."_

_"Maybe you could talk to the lawyer? I'd be glad to help? I'm sure he would understand...?"_ he asks softly.

_"I don't know...I don't know if I really believe he'll ever be found guilty...even if I try..."_

I hear his breath catch, and I realize this worries him too...

Silence once more falls, as we both struggle with the worry that there is no certainty in the criminal justice system, other than the questions and counteraccusations that will devastate me further...

I know how open and honest he is being with me, so I try to do the same...

_"I never planned to press charges...if this happened..."_

Once more silence descends between us as he tries to absorb this latest bombshell...

 _"What changed your mind?"_ he whispers.

_"I don't know...I just felt...like **I** needed to know I was worth trying for...and it wasn't a secret anyway...I didn't really have the choice to keep the secret..."_

_"I don't want it to feel like I'm pressuring you...but I'm glad you couldn't keep that secret...and you deserve so much more than just the police bringing charges and it going to trial...he deserves a lot more than being locked up too...I hate that you have to go through all of this but... **please**...please, **really** think about it?"_

I can't help noticing how closely his words parallel those of Olivia, he really believes me...

_"The cop who has been dealing with my case, Olivia...she has been great...she came and found me when I ran out...she told me to think about it too...not to make any snap decisions..."_

I can hear the relief in his voice as he quickly answers, _"Good! I'm really glad!...You need time to see how you feel..."_

This one conversation has taken so much out of me, that I can barely sit up and hold the phone, but I'm still very hesitant to let him go...

 _"You sound exhausted?"_ he asks gently.

Again I nod slightly, not thinking that he can't see the movement...

 _"I haven't really been sleeping great..."_ I admit. After all the other confessions, it falls out easily...

Now I can hear hesitance when he speaks, _"Will you call me? Or can I call you tomorrow?"_

Again I nod, oblivious to the futility of the gesture...

_"I know you think you don't know what to say...but...you helped... I think I may actually sleep tonight...so thank you..."_

_"Ok, try and get some sleep...and please, any time, call me? And if I can do anything...? Even if you just want some company? I know you can get through this, but I want to help if I can?"_

_"Thanks...maybe, give me a call tomorrow when you finish work?"_

I can hear the smile as he says, _"I will! Good night..."_

 _"Night...and thanks again..."_ I mumble, already curling into the bedclothes still piled around me.

The cushion seam sticks into me immediately, and despite how tired I am; I just can't get comfortable...

Almost without thought, I stumble up off the couch, and with my phone still grasped in my hand; I head into my bedroom...

The soft mattress soothes my sore body instantly, as I sink into it gratefully, tugging the bedclothes up to my chin.

I pull the second pillow over, clasping it to my chest as if it were a beloved toy, my body curling around its comfort. I'm vaguely aware that tonight, I didn't need quite so many adjustments to find a position that doesn't irritate some injury...and my last thought as my eyes flutter closed, is that maybe my body is starting to recover, and as I sigh gently into my pillow, maybe it's not only my body beginning the long healing process...


	10. Clarity

I wake numerous times during the night, but each time, I am able to reclose my eyes once I am sure the threats that pulled me from sleep are merely ghosts...that I am safe...

It may not seem like a huge improvement, but for me, it is a victory, and it feels almost miraculous when my eyes open to the first streaks of daylight peaking through the small gap in the curtains.

For the first time since...well, it feels like I have really slept.

I cautiously stretch, wincing slightly at the expected points...but I can't help the slight hope, that maybe, my battered body isn't as damaged now, as it was only a few days ago...

This is becoming my morning ritual; a quick stock take of how many times I woke during the night, how many times a cursory check that I was safe and at home, was enough to allow me to gently fall back asleep, and how many times the images playing out, were such that sleep became an impossibility...then the gentle stretch to see how much my body hurts...there are days that recovery seems more certain than others, and those days where recovery seems less assured, I battle to remind myself that at least I got **some** sleep...or that the stiffness is an improvement on pain...or that the images that torture my waking and sleeping mind, are merely memories, or nightmares...that I am, at least for now, safe...

All of the things that once made up my daily life seem to have vanished, but I find new routines...new habits, sequences and schedules to regulate my days, little things that give me purpose...

Over a couple of days, a big part of my day becomes talking to the man I still haven't found the courage to see...but we do talk...sometimes we talk sports, work and the weather...anything **but** what happened. Sometimes, we tackle the hard stuff...

I'm not sure how he knows what to talk about? How he can decipher my form, when even I, don't know if I can bear the images that fill my head the moment the topic switches...?

One constant is how he always gently asks, _"Have you considered talking to Olivia or Barba?"_. It has become part of our every conversation... Sometimes I pretend not to hear him, skipping, quickly, over the query...but other times, I gladly engage.

Maybe it has become the door he opens, every time, to give me a way into the discussion, a way to talk about the things that never seem to leave my mind, constant in their torture, but yet I struggle to find a voice for...

He doesn't ever try to bully me into pursuing the accusations I have made, but yet I know he hopes I do...

He is steadfast in his assurances that I bear no fault for what happened, even when I feel like I brought it all on myself, he softly reminds me that I _"did nothing wrong"_. And I never tire of hearing it, even though I can't quite yet, believe it to be the truth...

He never objects to extrapolating a certain course of events to its potential conclusion, with me...helping me to go past the immediate, even if it is only in my mind...but he is always quick to point out when I am pushing the boundaries of plausibility too hard...when I'm being too pessimistic, when my outcomes are too gloomy...

He doesn't pressure me, spending hours with his phone stuck to his ear, sometimes late into the night, talking and helping me work it through...promising to do whatever he can, no matter what I choose...

After a few days, I start thinking about going back to work...my body is healing, and I **need** to do more than the busy work I create for myself.

The prospect terrifies me, and it means more than I can hope to express, when he doesn't coddle me when we begin to discuss my return ...he hesitantly confirms that I am the main subject of discussion, when I find the courage to ask the question. He is honest that our colleagues don't all believe my side of the accusation, and he tells me the truth, when he whispers that he, too, is worried what will happen when I return, if I drop my case...

I know he regrets his words as soon as he hears me start to sob in response, but it is an odd and unexpected gift...it helps clarify my thoughts, allowing me to make my decision...I know what I want to do...

I want to, no, I **need** to, pursue my case.

I constantly doubt my decision though, and live in constant fear of the day I will have to testify in an open courtroom...but it's like I need to feel that I believe I am worth the system's time; that maybe only by making the public accusation, can I believe, the seriousness of what was done to me...it feels odd for someone who usually cares so little, about how they are perceived, that I desperately need some external validation to truly understand how terrible what happened to me was...

But I understand there is no guarantee; that just because I pursue it, does not mean that the verdict will be what I hope for... but until I can find another career, I need to work... and I only feel safe doing that, if I don't let him escape all consequences of his actions...I try not to allow myself to wonder what will happen, if after bringing him to trial, he is found not guilty...

Nearly a week after running out of the DA's office, Olivia calls, and almost before she has a chance to speak, I nervously, ask to finish the meeting with Barba ...hoping that my timidly whispered question conveys the decision I am still agonizing over...

The almost, trivial request holds so much significance, that it seems ludicrous, but I can hear the smile in her voice as she promises to call me back with a time.

She doesn't need any other words. She has understood the decision that I've made...

This time, my journey to Barba's office is a little less fraught...

I'm still careful, cautious of human contact, but I feel a lot less 'hunted', like some of the threat has been lifted...and when I arrive a few minutes before my scheduled meeting, I don't panic.

I give his assistant my name, assuring her I'm a few minutes early, as she checks his diary and when she shows me into his office, Olivia is already there, sitting beside the lawyer at the conference table I barely noticed last time...

He is wearing a vest, gone is the buttoned up suit jacket of my previous meeting, the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and as he stands to greet me, holding out his hand... I can't help but notice his suit jacket is thrown over a chair. The difference between this and the last time do not escape me, and I worry...does he doubt me more now? Or does he not intend to prosecute my case? Does he think it's not worth making any effort, when I'm likely to just run out again?

 _"Thank you for coming!"_ he says gently.

I'm anxious to try and immediately convince him of my commitment...

 _"I'm sorry for running out last time, I know it doesn't fill you with confidence, and I'm very grateful you are still willing to even, consider my case..."_ I gabble, as he meets my eye.

_"I can only imagine how difficult this is...I'm very glad you are here. I need to ask some questions that are going to be tough, but I need you to know I believe you...even when it feels like I don't...this is the only way I can fight for you...and you can always let me know if you need a minute..."_

I nod my agreement, and seeing the unspoken question in his expressive features, I want to regain some of the trust, I worry I broke, when I ran away...

_"I really want him... to know... what he did...I know it won't be easy..."_

He seems content with my soft words, as he gestures me to sit.

I can only nervously chew on my bottom lip, as I slip into the seat on the other side of him, my gaze wanders to where Olivia sits, opposite me...she nods her greeting and smiles supportively at me, as he starts to open files and notepads...

I feel his gaze on me, and he looks me directly in the eye, as he unapologetically asks, _"Before we start, what was it that upset you so much last time?"_

This throws me, somehow, I didn't expect it...but as I look at him, I understand that he needs to know so he can prepare, so he knows where my weaknesses lie... I take a deep breath...

 _"I know it's ridiculous, but finding out that John knew... that he was interrupting..."_ the word sticks in my throat but I know how important it is, both for my case and for me _... "...a rape..."_

A quick glance passes between Barba and Olivia, as he nods gently. I struggle to maintain eye contact, but my gaze drifts away, as I force myself to say the word I've desperately avoided. I'm sure it doesn't escape his notice, but he is, at least, kind enough to not mention my discomfort with such an important word...

 _"I have some more questions for you..."_ he says opening the yellow pad in front of him. Immediately quieting some of my fears that he just called me here to tell me that I am too horrible a witness to proceed with any case...

The questions that follow, are no less horrible than they were last time, but somehow it feels as though I have chosen this now, not that it is something happening **to** me, beyond my control...there are plenty of tears and pain as I try to answer him, but that feeling of playing a game of chicken with a runaway car is gone...I can see why he is asking these questions, and when I can't speak for sobbing, he gives me a moment, always pouring me a glass of water or passing me a tissue, patiently allowing me to face the emotions that are too strong to hold back...until I can begin to find an answer...

I find that despite the agony of the questions he throws at me, my trust in the man grows at every juncture, even as he picks apart every detail of the assault that brought me to him...

_"At what point did you realize that there was a witness to your attack?"_

He tries to soften his tone slightly, as he asks this, conscious of how I may react to an area of questioning I have already identified as particularly difficult for me...

I close my eyes for a second, fighting to concentrate on the detail, and not the emotions filling me...

_"I didn't know John was there...until he tackled him...pushed him off me..."_

I'm suddenly aware of how I am curled up in the chair, my knees pulled up to my chin, and I try to force myself back into a more dignified position, and once again struggle to stem the tide of tears, that flow relentlessly, down my cheeks.

_"Are you sure you didn't signal, or gesture somehow, for help?"_

I shake my head, straining to force out a verbal answer, remembering Barba's warning that he would need verbal responses to every question in court...

_"No! I was trying to get away, I didn't see John, didn't know anyone else was there...I was nearly more scared when he was pushed off me, I felt the force rock me, I didn't know what was going on..."_

As with almost every other question he scribbles briefly in his notepad...

_"If you didn't somehow request help from John, how could he possibly have known that you were not consenting to the activities he was witnessing?"_

His green eyes don't waver, as I start to gasp...

I don't know...maybe he didn't?...maybe it wasn't so clear?...maybe he wasn't as sure as he led me to believe he was?

All of the doubt, the fear, slam back into me...and I start to sob again...

I know Barba needs to do this, but I can't help the hurt I feel as I look at the man supposed to be representing my interests...

His jaw tightens as he meets my eye, " _Take a minute...but this is just a taste of what we can expect from the defense...I'd rather we be prepared for anything..."_

Olivia pours me yet another glass of water, _"I know it seems cruel, but just answer as best you can...and try not to doubt yourself..."_

I nod softly, straining to pull myself together _... "I was fighting him, trying to push him off me, to get away...I know I said no...I was crying...saying no, no, no...he was holding me down...I suppose some of that is what John saw..."_

My last few words are almost spat out, my tone is slightly caustic...I can't hide the disdain I'm feeling...I'm battling to hide so many emotions already, this one slips out...

I brace myself for the inevitable "helpful rephrasing" that has accompanied some of my more acerbic answers, but instead I'm treated to a smile...

_"Maybe change the tone of the last few words a little, but that's a pretty good answer..."_

I take in a deep breath; going over the answer I have just given, in my head...

As I replay the details, I begin to realize what John must really have seen...it is only with this question, that I have spent any time actually considering it.

Up to now, I have shied away from thoughts such as this...

He really **didn't** see a man and a woman engaged in some sexual activity, he could only have seen tiny glimpses of my body; it would have been mostly blocked from his view, by the man on top of me...what he would most likely have seen, was a struggle...ripped clothes...my hands being pinned... **he would have seen violence...**

_"He would have seen...violence..."_

I'm not sure if I say the words out loud for the two people in the room with me, or for myself...but once they're out, I can't help myself...

_"He didn't see something sexual...he saw violence..."_

Olivia reaches across the table once more, holding her hand out to me...

 _"It was just violence..."_ I whisper...

I'm aware that I sound shocked...as I look between the detective and the lawyer, as if this is a huge realization for me...and as ludicrous as it may be, this is a huge insight...somehow, even though I understood what happened, **he** hurt **me** ; I didn't want what he did, even though he claims I did...but never before, have I seen what happened as anything other than him invading my body...I saw it as sexual...but it wasn't... **it was violence**...


	11. Progress?

**A/N Sorry I couldn't find a way to split this, even though I tried to write it as two chapters, it just didn't flow right...sorry it's so long...**

 

 

 _"It was just violence..."_ I whisper...

I'm aware that I sound shocked...as I look between the detective and the lawyer, as if this is a huge realization for me...and as ludicrous as it may be, this is a huge insight...somehow, even though I understood what happened, **he** hurt **me** ; I didn't want what he did, even though he claims I did...but never before, have I seen what happened as anything other than him invading my body...I saw it as sexual...but it wasn't... **it was violence**...

I see another soft look pass between the lawyer and the woman with me, as he begins to excuse himself...he seems slightly surprised when I direct my next whispered words at him...and not the woman who is once again, holding my hand...

_"He didn't see sex...did he?"_

I see him blow out a nervous breath, as he turns to stand behind the chair he has only just vacated, his hands clasping its back as he shakes his head...

_"No...he didn't."_

Olivia sits back into the chair beside me, never letting go of my hand, but seemingly a lot more confident in the abilities of the man before me, than he is himself...

He seems to take the moment of silence to gather his thoughts...

_"It wasn't sex...it was violence...you are right...and that is **so** important to remember..."_

For a moment it is not the assured, strong, lawyer that stands before me, it is the man... _"I don't know how all of this feels...and I'm sorry that you do, that anyone does...but what was done to you, wasn't sex, it was violence...and you did nothing to invite it..."_

He looks to Olivia, _"The Lieutenant is much better at knowing what to say, but what was done to you does nothing to diminish you...you are no less for what he did...and no decent person would ever see you as any less...in fact they may be awestruck by your strength..."_

His words feel laser guided as each one of them finds their mark...it doesn't matter what words I use to describe what happened, unwanted sex or violence, the after-effects are the same...I do feel **less**...I feel weak...I'm embarrassed by what was done to me...

All I can do is try to swallow back my tears, and nod gratefully to the man who is hesitantly watching me... he begins to pull himself upright, pushing his shoulders back, slipping back into his DA persona as if it were the suit jacket he had discarded...

_"I have a few more questions...and there will be more of these meetings, especially if new evidence is submitted, or as we near trial...I understand how difficult they must be, and I really appreciate how open and honest you are being...do you think you could give me another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?"_

I pull myself up, unconsciously mirroring him, as I nod gently _..."Whatever it takes..."_

As it happens, he peppers me with a raft of questions for another thirty-five minutes. But none of them are as difficult as the ones we have already put behind us...although I know that will most likely change, and he will find different ways to ask similar questions again, until he is confident of my answers...

His last question is a very soft _"How are you...really?",_ as he starts to close up the folders and notepads that are strewn in front of him...

I hesitate slightly... _"Some days it feels like I'm healing...but then some days it seems to be getting harder..."_

Olivia nods softly before quietly asking, _"Have you tried to talk to anyone?"_

Even though I know I shouldn't, I feel embarrassed to admit that I've been talking, **a lot**.. that I have needed to talk... _"I have...I tried the helpline...once,_

_I suppose...but I've been talking to...a friend...he has really made a huge difference...I guess there's still a lot to talk about...but...when I can't, or don't want to talk about **this**...we talk about other things...even that, means a lot..."_

I hate how weak I sound, but it is the truth...and the truth doesn't seem to be quite as much of a struggle as it used to be...almost as if by talking, I can improve my ability to talk...like it is a muscle I can train and strengthen...

I have one more question to ask, the one that I have been holding back, too worried about how it may look, until I am out of time...

_"Ehhhmmmm, I don't know if you need to know...or if there is anything I need to clear with you or do...but...I'm thinking about returning to work...?"_

He looks a little surprised, but Olivia just smiles back at me...

 _"No...not really..."_ he says shaking his head gently _"...as we discussed, the judge has ordered he is not to approach you or try to intimidate you in any way...but I really appreciate that you told us. That's a very brave move..."_

He meets my eye once more to emphasize his words.

I thank him for his time, and for giving me a second chance, as I gather up all the extra clothing that a New York winter demands; the scarf, the gloves, the hat, the coat...

Now that my reason for being here is done, I feel oddly uneasy, like the walls holding back all the fears and the emotions I'm struggling to hide, are starting to crack, and I desperately need to get out, to get home to where no one can see the true collapse...

Olivia offers to drive me home, but I tell her softly, _"I need to start feeling like me again...I need to be able to do all these things for myself..."_

Again I see a spark of recognition in the little smile she gives me, _"You still have my number, if you ever want to talk?"_

This time the nod I give her is laced with gratitude...for the offer, and maybe even more, for not trying to undermine my trust in myself by questioning me, or running to leave with me...her acceptance helps me believe in myself...

As I make my way back to the subway, I struggle to concentrate on anything other than the questions and answers of the last couple of hours. As I join the throng of commuters heading home after a day's work, I'm oddly comforted by the fact that everyone around me seems to be travelling on some sort of autopilot, just as I am...the minutiae of our journeys completely lost on us, as we block it out with phones, tablets, headphones, daydreaming or just trying to mentally grapple with problems that seem to have no solutions...

As the wave of human traffic sweeps me towards the exit of my station the insistent ringing of my phone finally penetrates through, and despite the touchscreen pads, I find I have to remove my gloves to be able to answer...

_"Hey! Are you ok? I rang a few times, I was worried...did you go talk to Barba?"_

_"I'm fine, I'm sorry, I didn't hear the phone, I'm just coming out of the subway...I guess my mind was elsewhere..."_

_"It's absolutely freezing, and it's pretty dark now...I'm not far away...Please, can I pick you up? I don't doubt that you can get yourself home, but it has to have been hard...I'd really like to hear about it..."_

I'm not really relishing the idea of walking the 15 minutes to my home, and it is colder and darker than I had anticipated, but I'm also nervous about finally seeing him face to face.

Despite all the talking we have done, I have carefully avoided seeing him...

As always, he says no more, not wanting to pressure me, he tries to allow me a moment's peace to make a decision...but seemingly before I can, I hear my own traitorous voice...

_"I'm a little afraid...to see you..."_

_"I understand...you don't have to, it's ok...we can just talk like this...while you walk home...that way I know you are safe..."_

I slip out of the human flood, leaning against a convenient wall, my head against the cold brick for a moment, as I realize how exhausted I am...and how appealing the idea of a ride...and human contact really is...

 _"John..."_ I whisper _"...it **was** really tough...maybe we could grab a coffee?"_

I barely have time to recognize my own words before he has eagerly agreed, asking where I want to meet...

I look around me and tell him the first place I see, Starbucks...

I wait for him just outside the window, not wanting to brave the hordes of people inside alone, immediately having second thoughts about my impulsive decision...

My wait is much shorter than I had anticipated, he really was nearby...I try not to wonder was that by accident...

He approaches me carefully, not wanting to surprise me, but he can't seem to help the warm smile once he gets close...

There is an awkward moment where neither of us quite know how to greet each other, there was a time that in a situation like this, I would get squeezed into a warm, tight, hug...but now we just kind of nod uncertainly...

 _"You must be freezing? C'mon let's get something hot!"_ he says, his hand innocently reaching out towards my lower back, to lead me inside, before he seemingly rethinks the gesture...

This, very understandable, hesitation on his part, for a moment, seems to prove all my concerns, as I tense and stop in my tracks...

 _"Fuck! I'm sorry..."_ he mutters and I can see how annoyed he is at himself _, "I guess I'm trying not to be odd, or treat you any differently...but I don't want to hurt you either...you were so bruised..."_

I hadn't even considered this could be his reason for withdrawing his hand, I had assumed it was because he was afraid I would start screaming, or be terrified of a simple touch...but his first concern is exacerbating some hidden injury...

 _"It's ok...I guess this is going to take a little getting used to..."_ I try to assure him, and maybe myself...

He nods gently, gesturing to the door he is opening for me.

As we order, the buzz of the crowd unsettles me, and I impulsively ask for take away, rather than our planned sit in drinks...he tries not to react to the change but he can't hide the subtle tightening of his jaw...

 _"It's too busy...I'm sorry...I'm not...comfortable..."_ I struggle to explain as we wait for our orders to be filled...

He assures me it's no problem, but we stand slightly apart, in awkward silence...and when we both hold our lidded, sugared, drinks, he looks to me, unsure what his next move should be...

 _"Maybe we could talk somewhere?"_ I ask softly.

He smiles broadly, _"I'm just parked around the corner..."_ he announces and leads the way.

As we exit the coffee shop he falls into step beside me, and it reminds me how, usually, his strides are longer than mine, how normally, I have to walk faster to try to keep up with him...but now he is very consciously keeping pace with me, furtively, studying my gait, seemingly looking for any lingering signs of injury or pain...just one more tiny reminder of how things are not the same anymore...

 _"Is it ok if we just sit in my car? Or do you want to do something else?"_ he asks as he digs into his pocket and clicks the remote to open the doors.

_"If it's ok...I wouldn't mind going home?"_

_"Sure..."_ he answers but I can see his disappointment...

I know he thinks I don't want to talk to him, that I have changed my mind...

_"If you aren't in a hurry, maybe there's something in one of the cupboards...to go with this coffee?"_

He smiles widely, and in minutes he is parking and following me into my home...

He has never been here before, and it is hard to tell if this is the cause of the slight unease, as he stands just inside, while I lock the door and put on the chain...

As I go rooting through cupboards he slides onto one of the stools that sit against the counter...taking the opportunity to survey the fading bruises still visible on my face...

 _"Are they still painful?"_ he asks quietly, touching his hand to his own cheek, mirroring the position of the most obvious marks...

I turn to him, with a pack of white chocolate, raspberry and macadamia cookies in my hand, shrugging my shoulders...

 _"They weren't ever too bad..."_ I also, unconsciously, gesture to the same bruises...

_"Were your ribs...broken? fractured?"_

This question reminds me of how I clasped my sides, how hunched over I was, how much pain I was in, as we walked into the hospital...and my teeth pinch my lip as I try to hold off my tears, shaking my head gently...

_"...just bruised..."_

_"But you are still in some pain..."_ it's more of a statement than a question...

I'm aware that I'm not holding myself the way I used to, I'm still not moving as freely as I once did...so I nod reluctantly...suddenly aware of how much we have not discussed, how much has been carefully sidestepped...how much I have avoided putting a voice to...

I see his brow furrow, as he waits to meet my eye...

 _"Are you...ok?"_ he asks, uncertain how else to communicate the thoughts running through his head...

_"Nothing was broken...I'm healing...I'll be ok..."_

I can see the guilt he is trying to hide from me, in the tightened jaw, and the way his eyes fall away from me...

 _"...I was lucky...you stopped him..."_ I tell him, wanting him to know that I am grateful, that it was only his intervention that likely saved me much worse injuries...

But from the look on his face, for a second, I worry he is going to be sick, and as he pushes his coffee away I think maybe I be right...but instead he reaches for the cookies...

 _"Mmmmmm...macadamia...these look good!"_ he says opening the package...and pulling one out ...

 _"So...how was the meeting with the lawyer?"_ he asks carefully through a mouthful...

I roll my eyes at the question, reaching for a cookie myself...sighing deeply...

_"It felt different...this time...I think he is going to try and make the case...but...the questions..."_

Yet again, words fail me, and I settle for just shaking my head and shrugging...

I can see how much this bothers him...that I'm being subjected to such horrible questions...

 _"Can I ask you something?..."_ I whisper, studying the untouched cookie in my hand...

_"Sure..."_

I need to know...but the words seem to stick in my throat...

_"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."_

My eyes flick quickly up to him, to see he is nervously awaiting my query...

_"Back at the coffee shop...you couldn't...you were afraid...to touch me?"_

I can't look at him, for fear of what I may see, turning the cookie over and over instead...

 _"A little..."_ he seems to admit reluctantly, _"...I can't help remembering how you flinched when I touched you going into the hospital...I know what he did to you...I understand it must be hard...any touch must be...I don't want to make you uncomfortable...or hurt you...and I know there were a lot more, bruises, cuts...injuries...than I saw..."_

A quick glance at the hurt in his eyes, tells me this is at least, partly true...but I can't help thinking that I wouldn't want to touch me either...not after seeing **that**...

I'm unaware that I've hunched over defensively, that tears are flowing down my cheeks until I feel his hand lightly rest on mine...

 _"I'm sorry..."_ he whispers softly, again and again...

When I start to shake from the intensity of the sobs I'm trying to hold in, it is too much for him, and he reaches an arm around me, trying desperately, to comfort me when he just has no more words...

I want nothing more than that human touch, that tiny reminder that this lump of flesh and bone is capable of more than just pain...I want one of those tight hugs he used to so, enthusiastically gave out...But the weight of his arm across my shoulders, the light touch of his fingers on my bicep, bring the memories flooding back;...the heavy body pinning me to the ground...the fingers clawing at me...the threats...the words that made my skin crawl...

I stumble off the stool so fast that I barely stay upright, pressing myself into the corner as if it can provide me some shelter, some protection...

Even though I'm battling with images of the past, I'm dimly aware that I still have a visitor... that he didn't, **wouldn't** hurt me...and although it feels like my heart may burst out of my chest, I try to find a way to reassure him...reaching a hand out in front of me, trying to summon a crooked smile...

Unfortunately for me, these images are not unfamiliar, and I've devised a way of banishing them; I move my hands, my feet, my arms, my legs...reminding myself that, despite what I'm seeing and feeling, I'm not restrained in any way... I keep telling myself _"it's not happening, it's not happening..."_ until the words permeate through, and I can start to recognize that it is only a ghost of the past, it's not happening now...

As I begin to calm, I start to look around for John, terrified that once more, he has seen something I didn't want him to witness...I don't have far to look, he is crouched in front of me, barely an arms length away, his face a mask of fear and horror...

 _"I'm sorry, I'm so...sorry..."_ I start to cry softly...

He tries to gather himself...his face immediately softens, and then his jaw tightens, and once more I recognize guilt in his features...

 _"I'm the one who is sorry...I should have asked before I touched you...I shouldn't have..."_ he starts to counter...

I reach out and pat his hand lightly, shaking my head...

_"I wanted a hug...I needed one..."_

_"But I reminded you...?"_ there is only a hint of a question, he isn't really asking, he thinks he knows what happened...

 _"No!..."_ I mutter, _"No! **You** didn't remind me... **this** happens...it's like I'm in a nightmare...but I'm not asleep..."_

He takes the hand that is still held out to him, wrapping it gently in his own...as I continue to speak, in between ragged breaths...

_"...it wasn't you...it wasn't your fault...I guess I **am** a bit jumpy..."_

This time when my lips pull slightly it feels more like a small smile...

_"...Actually, I'm pretty happy... you weren't too afraid to touch me..."_

For a second he looks at me like I'm crazy, and then he seems to recognize the statement for what it is... **me** , just regular me...

He rolls his eyes at me, reaching out his second hand and pulling me up off the floor when I gladly take it...

He looks at me for a moment, _"Can I give you that hug now?",_ he asks hesitantly...

As tears spring forward, all I can do is nod, as he wraps his arms around me, slowly enveloping me in a tightening hug...

 _"You scared the shit out of me..."_ he whispers into my ear, _"...not only now..."_

Again, it is all I can do to nod...as he begins to release me...

For almost the first time, there is no awkwardness as we separate...and slip back onto the stools we had been perched on...

 _"Okay so maybe the 'being afraid to touch me' bit wasn't your craziest thought..."_ I mumble, reaching for my cookie again...

He looks at me like I'm truly gone mad, before starting to laugh...I try to nonchalantly bite into the cookie, but cannot resist joining in his laughter...

As our laughter subsides, he shakes his head softly, his hand rubbing across the stubble on his chin, as he looks at me exactly the same way he always has, when I say something he deems unusual, and outlandish...

 _"I know I'm not really myself, most of the time...that it's ridiculous to expect you to treat me the same, when I'm not...but...I don't want to let **him** change me...I don't want to be like some fragile, helpless, little bird..."_ I whisper, looking straight ahead, not needing to see any inadvertent confirmation from him...

 _"Is that what you think people see? Is that what you think I see you as?"_ he asks quietly...

I know I'm proving the point I am desperate to disprove, but I hang my head and cross my arms protectively around myself...

_"That's not at all, what I see, or what you are! I'm sorry if that's how I'm making you feel...but...No! If anything it's the complete opposite...I've never been under any illusion, I know that you could quite easily kick my ass, that you are much stronger, and much more resilient than me...but... **this**...has just proved how incredibly strong you are..."_

He bumps my shoulder gently with his, to get me to look at him...only continuing when I meet his eye once more...

_"I'm too afraid to ask about your... injuries...how badly he hurt you...I'm struggling to be normal, because I feel like...I didn't do enough... **then**...and I don't know what to do now either..."_

_"I don't know what to do either...or what to say..."_ I admit in a whisper... _"I just don't want you, or anyone, tip-toeing around me...I'll still tell you if I don't want to answer a question...silence...wondering...maybe that's harder than the truth..."_

He nods confidently... checking his watch.

 _"Sorry, I don't want to keep you...I'm glad we sorted this out..."_ I tell him honestly, trying to hide my disappointment...

 _"It's a start..."_ he answers softly _..."...but unless you are kicking me out?...That one bite of cookie isn't going to do much for you, and I'm guessing you haven't had dinner yet either?"_

I look guiltily, down at the discarded cookie...shaking my head gently.

_"I haven't had much appetite..."_

He frowns a little at this admission...

 _"I want to tell you that you have to eat..."_ he smiles sympathetically _, "but you already know that! How about we order something and you just give it a go...?"_

I roll my eyes at him, _"Yes mother!"_

_"I'll try not to push you...and you tell me about the DA today?"_

_"Deal!"_ I agree.

We spend a few moments deciding on food and once the order is placed, he shoves his phone back into his jacket, and wanders into the kitchen and starts pulling out drawers looking for cutlery... then cupboard doors start being pulled open until he has found plates and glasses...

He is definitely no longer walking on eggshells around me, and I find myself smiling widely as I wander over to the living room, settling myself into my regular spot on the couch...he silently follows my lead, stacking the dishes, cutlery and glasses into a pile and laying them on the table in front of me. He sinks into the chair to my right, the closest seat to me, without joining me on the couch...

_"So did Barba give you a hard time?"_

I shrug slightly, _"He didn't give me a hard time about the last meeting, and he seemed to accept that I want to see it through...but the questions...they're brutal...I know that Barba needs me prepared and he needs to know how I'll react and how I'll answer...but..."_

 _"What kind of questions?"_ he asks quietly.

I swallow deeply, aware of the opportunity to discuss what he witnessed...

 _"Today...he asked when I knew you were **there**? ...If I had somehow asked you for help?..." _ I close my eyes as I try to marshal the courage to repeat the last question... _"And if I didn't ask you for help, how you could possibly have known...I didn't want...?"_

He looks at me open-mouthed...clearly shocked...as I shrug back at him...

 _"Why would he ask you... **that**?”_ he stutters after a moment...

_"He thinks the defense will ask..."_

The doorbell interrupts, and I'm glad of the deferral, unsure how to proceed... I jump up and unchain and unlock the door, grabbing my wallet...

The delivery guy assures me that our dinner has already been paid for online, when it was ordered, so I give him a tip and thank him.

Even with the bag of take out balancing against me, I click the lock on again, and pull the safety chain back across...and John passes no comment...

We get into a brief squabble about money for dinner, but he resolves it by promising to let me pay for the food next time...and surprisingly, the inference that there will be a next time, that this is not a one time event, comforts me immensely...

We start tipping containers out of the bag, passing them back and forth until we both have our choice of food...I laugh at the huge pile of food on his plate, but as promised, he says nothing about the small portion I have taken...

For a few minutes we tuck into dinner, teasing each other's bad taste in food...after so many lunches and dinners at work, spent debating the virtues of his love of meat, versus my vegetarian diet, this is a situation that we are all too familiar with...and I begin to feel almost, normal...

 _"What did you tell Barba?"_ he finally asks quietly, _"about how I knew you didn't want what he was doing...?"_ he adds softly when he sees my momentary confusion...

I put down my fork...wiping my mouth carefully...

_"I told him...that you probably saw...him pinning my hands down...heard me saying 'no'...saw me struggle..."_

He pauses with his fork still in his hand; gently nodding at each thing I attribute to him...confirming silently, that this is, indeed, what he did see...

 _"I heard...the threats...saw him..."_ for an instant, I'm terrified that he's going to tell me how much of the... **act** , he saw, but thankfully, he avoids the subject _"...I saw him smack your head off the ground..."_ he whispers...

There is no thought; the words just spill out my lips _..."You saw violence...?"_

He just nods repeatedly, biting his lip slightly _..."That's what it was... **violence**..."_

He watches the deep sigh I let out at his validation...understanding how important this affirmation really must be to me, from my reaction...

 _"That's **all** it was...violence..."_ he adds gently, seemingly understanding on some level, the confusion that I am still fighting...

Now it's my turn to just nod...as I reach for the fork and return to the food on my plate...

I don't want to know the gory detail of how much of **that** assault he witnessed; how much of my body he saw...how much of what **he** was doing ...it's enough I know that he **knew** that I was not a consenting party, and that he **knew** what he stopped...

There is a tiny voice in the back of my head trying to warn me, that this may be something that will come out at trial...that I may not have that choice...that maybe I **need** to know...

As I chew, I try to objectively view it; what difference would knowing **exactly** what he saw make to me?

_"John, I know I'm avoiding the question...of how much...you saw...of what...he did. I don't know if I **should** want to know...if I **need** to know... but I can't...not now...for now, it's hard enough, to know you saw...and you knew what it was..."_

I can see he is glad to address the subject, even in this roundabout way...and I am reminded of Liv's comment that maybe we both need to talk about these things...

_"I know what happened...I do!...But **some** words...I just can't...I forced myself to say it today...to the lawyer...and I thought it was going to choke me...and I could only use it in an abstract sense...I can't..."_

_"I know it's very recent...and that some words...have a lot of power..."_ he falters for a moment, _"...I know nothing about **this**...I've told you how scared I am of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing...and I don't want to pressure you, you've had enough of that for a whole lifetime...but...no matter how horrible the word, it doesn't change who you are...and not saying it...doesn't...undo it..."_

I want to be angry at him...but as I look at the worry and concern in his eyes, I understand how hard it was for him to say, and how much he means it...and my anger dissolves...

 _"I know..."_ is all I can whisper...looking back down at my plate...

 _"I'm here...if... **when**..."_ he whispers back reaching for my hand once more.


	12. Nightmares

_"I'm here...if... **when**..."_ he whispers back reaching for my hand once more ...

To anyone observing this exchange, his statement would sound garbled, incomplete, almost nonsensical...but to me, it means **everything**...it means he really is my **friend**...it means he knows, and accepts, what happened, for exactly what it is...and it means that he doesn't want to hide from the hard words that I can't quite stomach yet...

Warm tears start to stream down my cheeks once more...as I begin to really understand, that not only is he trying to be my friend, he wants to try to support me through **this**...and I know how rare that is...

I'm silently pleading that he doesn't hug me now...because as much as I crave the physical contact, I'm not sure I could even hope to hold myself together, if I feel his arms pulling me to his chest...so I reach my second hand across me, lightly patting his arm, hoping he can somehow understand...

A few moments pass in an oddly, comfortable, silence, broken only by my sniffles or soft sobs...

There are no words for this moment, and we both seem to recognize it.

It's clear from the way his brow is furrowing, and his teeth are worrying his lip that he wants to ask am I ok, but he appears to understand the futility of the question...and tries to content himself with just holding my hand...

When I finally regain some control, I need to find something to change the direction of our conversation...I'm struggling for anything to defuse the now, impossibly high-expectation laden silence...

 _"I told Barba, I want to go back to work..."_ I announce, seemingly out of nowhere...

He takes a deep breath, swallowing down his own confused emotions and trying to process the sharp change in subject; _"Do you need to do anything...legally...before...?"_

I just shake my head slightly _..."...Just call the boss..."_

I try to make it sound like a simple task, but in truth, I'm almost as terrified of this supposedly, straightforward call, as I am of actually going back...

For a moment we wordlessly, battle the unwanted images of our last day of working together...both trying not to think of the person sitting beside us as an echo of that horror...

 _"Ok...so when do you want to go back?"_ he asks gently...

 _"I need a few more days...for the bruises to fade..."_ I unthinkingly, touch my face, thinking only of the clearly visible marks...

_"Maybe...you should see your doctor...make sure that...get medical clearance...?"_

His worry is plastered all over his face...and it becomes very clear to me, that he is still uncertain about how many injuries, possibly much more serious, than the yellowing discolorations that stain my face, hide behind my layers of loose clothing...

_"My doc cleared me...for 'light' work...If I'm honest, I'm grateful, it helps ease me back in..."_

I can see he is struggling with the idea that I am really ready to return...and I try to put his mind at ease...

_"I know you are worried, and I know sometimes I've been known to push myself too hard, to ignore injuries or illnesses..."_

The look he gives me screams that he thinks 'sometimes' is a huge understatement...

_"...but I'm really not doing that...I am still carrying some injuries...but they're healing...my ribs...they were just bruised...and like all the other bruises...they're mending... and fading..."_

I try to leave it at that, but he is almost holding his breath in anticipation of finally hearing some of the damage he feels he failed to prevent, and I slowly, begin to appreciate that he has his own questions he needs answered...despite them being as yet, unasked...

I try to push myself, to tell him some of the things he appears to need to know... to return some of the comfort he has given me...

 _"...There were some..."_ I start, but I can't find the words to describe the wounds, and he already looks sickened...

_"You don't need to hear this...I'm healing...I'm ok..."_

He nods his head gently, _"I know...it must be so hard...to say...to catalogue them...to remember...and I'd give anything for them not to have happened...but...the things...I'm imagining..."_ he falters once more...his plea sinking into silence...

 _"I guess there's a lot I'm finding hard to say..."_ I quietly admit...as I take a deep breath

_"... There were some...grazes...scrapes and scratches...on my arms, my legs, my back...from the concrete... rubbing..."_

I can't look him in the eye, my cheeks already, burning bright with embarrassment.

 _"...other cuts...scrapes...nothing that needed more than steri-strips..."_ I try to assure quietly...

 _"Friction burns...?"_ I hear him choke...

I still can't look at him, as I struggle with his words...I want to say no, to call them something without the connotations...but eventually, I reluctantly, nod...

Even though I studiously avoid eye contact, I can hear his hand rubbing the light stubble on his face and the staggered sigh that escapes his mouth...I know without ever seeing them, tears are gathering in his eyes, and he is fighting really hard to hold them back...

I want to stop...to save him... **and me**...

But maybe the downside of the truth becoming easier to speak is that sometimes, it finds it's own way out regardless...

_"I didn't want it...he hurt me...inside..."_

It's scarcely an admission of any sort, the sobbed words barely making sense, their volume making them hardly audible, even in the quiet apartment...but it's the first time I've said it out loud...the first time I've made any attempt to admit my physical injuries...

It is not liberating, or empowering...the confession does nothing to restore any semblance of control or power...it just hurts...the emotional pain piling on top of the physical, as my body seems to fold in on itself...

I can hear John move from the chair on my right, onto the coffee table before me, tenderly taking my hand in his...trying to whisper comforting words to me, even as his voice is breaking with the weight of his own tears...

There is no thoughts behind my action, just a desperate, primitive, need for to feel less... **alone**... as I almost fall into his arms, sobbing...

Once he feels me relax into his embrace, he carefully moves to sit beside me, holding to me, as tight as I am to him...I can now feel his tears as they drop down onto me...until I have nothing left...

As he cradles me carefully against his chest, I hear a soft whisper, _"Are you ok?"_

I can only nod...

 _"I'm sorry for pushing you..."_ he says quietly...

 _"Maybe I need to be pushed a little?"_ I find myself whispering...as I begin to pull away from him.

He slowly, lets me go, gently releasing his arms from around me, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable or awkward as he stays sitting beside me...our legs still touching...the silence is not uneasy, but there seems to be no way to fill the quiet, no subject that would sit naturally into it. Every sentence that crosses my mind seems out of place, every word incongruous...

 _"I don't know what to say..."_ I finally admit softly.

He smiles at me sadly, _"Me neither..."_ so we just try to relax into the calm, both lost in our own individual thoughts.

There is no expectation from him, I don't feel like I need to talk, to pretend that I am ok...he is there for me...just sitting with me...

 _"You're exhausted and it's getting late...!"_ he finally murmurs as he stands up, starting to tidy away the remains of dinner.

I try to deny it, but he draws my attention to the increasingly frequent yawns, and my heavy eyelids that, even now, are creeping ever lower...

 _"I hardly do anything, and yet...I'm so tired...all the time"_ I finally admit...

He just nods sympathetically, putting the leftovers in the fridge, scraping the remnants of our dinners into the bin...

 _"Just leave them!"_ I tell him as he stacks the dishes beside the sink and starts to fill it with water...

He seems to momentarily consider whether to ignore me, but decides to do as I ask, coming to stand before me again...

 _"Will you sleep?"_ he questions gently.

I nod back, _"for a while anyway..."_

He looks around the apartment, before running his hand across his chin.

 _"I'll let you get to bed, or else you're going to wake up there!"_ he is smiling at the way I have curled into the arm of the couch.

 _"Come on!"_ he encourages again, as he walks to the door, pulling across the chain and clicking off the lock...

I reluctantly drag myself up off the couch, as he opens the door, _"I'm gonna stay outside til I hear you lock the door...give me a call tomorrow?"_

I nod, yawning once more, as he steps out of my apartment, _"John..."_ I call out, waiting for him to turn and look at me... _"Thank you..."_

The words don't feel even remotely, enough, but I hope he can see how much I mean them...I barely have time to see the big smile that greets my words before he leans back in, to wrap me into a warm, tight, hug.

As unexpected as it is, it is very welcome and I try to return the gesture, happily realizing that I hardly flinched at the sudden contact...

 _"You need sleep!"_ he reminds me as he steps back into the hallway, _"Lock up and I'll talk to you tomorrow!"_

I nod again; my soft " _Night_ " partly obscured by a yawn, as I close the door and once more slide the chain across and turn the lock.

I hear a very quiet _"Sleep well!"_ from the other side of the door, before he moves away.

Only minutes later, I'm slipping between the sheets of my bed.

I'm emotionally wrung out, from trying to balance the pain that seems to constantly sit in my chest, but runs much deeper than my still aching ribs, with the sense of relief that some of the words have finally clawed their way out, and he wasn't disgusted...

The pain scale the doctors used in the hospital to assess my physical injuries just can't be applied to the... weight, that seems to be pushing down on me now...this pain is no less but it can't be reduced by a few pills...and I have no concept of the recovery time on this...injury...

I could see as we talked tonight, how deeply affected, by what happened, John is...and in some strange way, it goes a long way in confirming how truly horrific it was...the fact that he was so upset by it, almost gives me permission to feel some of the things I had felt were out of proportion before...

But despite his own feelings, he didn't really treat me very differently...sure, he was a little more cautious...a little more careful...but that was to be expected...I didn't get the "pity eyes" I was so sure would be a part of every exchange...maybe he really can see a snippet of the person behind it all...maybe she isn't gone?

Even with all the emotional upheaval it begins to feel like maybe this was actually a good day...

I should have known, that life doesn't work like that though...that the tormentors are never far away...that a step forward doesn't leave anything behind in the past...but yet, when barely an hour passes that I don't wake up, terrified, fighting off an invisible force, I am completely devastated...

It is just one more, unwanted, un-needed reminder that **this** is not going away...that all the emotions, the memories, I am so desperate to forget and leave behind me, are going nowhere...

When the sensations feel so real that I struggle to believe that it isn't happening again now, I flee back to the couch...and I can no longer really believe there is a route back to who I once was...

I don't want **this** to change me...

I don't want to be forever, someone different...some empty shell of what I once was...because of **him**...it feels like after everything, this would be his biggest victory...

The nightmares that have once more, driven me, from my bed, have ensured that no matter how exhausted I am, I won't sleep any more tonight...and I find myself scouring the TV channels for some appropriate viewing to distract me from the glacial advancement of the clock...

I'm afraid to watch a mystery or drama of any description; even though they had previously been my choice of TV show, for fear of anything that may heighten my already nervous state...

I've become over-sensitized to any form of violence, no matter how far removed from my experience it may be...so, in an attempt to escape any potential triggers, I have become a huge fan of cookery shows...I know I will never seek out any of the restaurants shown, or taste any of the outrageous foods that make me smile, but it is an escape from a much less palatable reality...and I see the hours of darkness slowly, pass into the early light of morning, curled up in a quilt...

The day seems to stretch out unendingly; in front of me...I have nowhere to go, nothing to do...and no energy or interest, in braving the world in general...

The phone summons me from where I threw it on charge, when all the nonsensical games I played to while away the hours since dawn, drained the battery, and I'm disappointed to see it is still only a little after eleven am...

It is Olivia calling and I hesitantly answer, always aware that each call from her, could be the one to inform me, that my case has fallen through...

_"Hello?"_

_"Good morning. I hope it's not too early to call?"_

I assure her it's not, trying not to draw any attention to how many hours I have already been up...

_"If it's ok, I just wanted to check in, about you going back to work...I know Barba explained the restraining order, but if you have any problems, at all, you can talk to us, we'll do all we can to help..."_

I'm sure that this isn't strictly her responsibility, and it means so much to me that she is trying to show support for me...

 _"Thank you..."_ I begin, as a huge yawn forces me to stall, _"...I really appreciate the offer!"_

There's a moment of silence before she quietly asks, _"Did you sleep at all last night?"_

I silently curse myself for the yawn that gave me away.

 _"A bit..."_ I cautiously assert.

 _"Nightmares?"_ is the only word I hear in response...

I can't bring myself to lie...but before I can formulate an acceptable answer, I find myself pleading, _"How much longer will they last?"_ instead.

She doesn't directly answer my beseeching query, preferring rather, to pivot to how perhaps talking to someone may help reduce their intensity and frequency of ...

_"Have you given any more consideration to maybe seeing a therapist?"_

I'm so exhausted that I'm ready to consider anything at this stage...and her reluctance to answer my question, leads me to believe that maybe they can't be expected to disappear any time soon _..."Maybe...I've been talking to John, and perhaps it is helping..."_

I can almost hear her smile in her next words, _"I know it's not easy, to talk about it all...but some of the things we can't put into words, find their way into nightmares?"_

This blatantly obvious comment nearly floors me. Is this not exactly what has been happening? All the things I have fought so hard to keep at bay during the day, force their way out when my brain relaxes ...all the fears, the worries, the memories, play out when sleep doesn't allow me to deny them...

_"But last night, John...I met up with him...it was the first time...but it was so much better than I had thought...it is hard...and awkward sometimes...and there are some things we still haven't talked about...but for once it felt like maybe...it was getting a little better..."_

She quietly finishes for me, _"But last night, the nightmares were worse..."_

I can't help the sigh that accompanies my soft acknowledgement _..."Yeah...they were really bad..."_

_"I don't know why, but it seems to happen like that...and it feels so devastating...but it is progress..."_

In my current state of exhaustion, I'm struggling to see **this** as any form of progress, but I trust her...she has always been honest with me, and she really understands so I try to just accept her words until I can believe them...

_"I had been avoiding seeing John...and there were a few...incidents...but...we even laughed a little...and we talked some more...he needs to talk almost as much as I do...you were so right!"_

Once more I can hear the smile behind her words... _"You can help each other...but you can't feel responsible for him...you didn't hurt him, he was hurt when you were... but not by you!"_

I find myself incredibly grateful to hear these words said out loud to me...despite knowing the truth of them,

I can't help feeling guilty that he is also dealing with some of this...

 _"Thank you..."_ I whisper... _"Maybe I can try to see the nightmares as less of a failure..."_

 _"They're not a failure!"_ she assures me.

I know it's still early in the day, but I'm already exhausted...and her words seem to give me the permission I need, to give in to my body's demand for rest...

_"I hardly slept last night, I think I'm going to take a nap..."_

_"Good"_ she says softly, _"I know how hard it can be, but try not punish yourself, you're not failing...try to look after yourself..."_

I never though of it like that, but that's almost, what I had been doing...I couldn't sleep through the night, so I was punishing myself...by making myself try to get through the day without the sleep I so greatly need...instead of allowing myself to sleep when I can...

So desperate was I, to deny the impact of what happened, I couldn't allow myself to need recovery time...instead I tried to pretend that I had just had a sleepless night...never allowing myself, even the small concessions I would routinely make when I had a small injury, a minor illness...even just a series of long, sleep deprived work days... for instance; a morning in bed, an afternoon nap...even the comforting relief, of a hot water bottle...

_"Thank you Olivia... I appreciate it...once again, you have really helped me..."_

_"Good, I'm very glad...We'll be in contact...Sleep well!"_

_"I will...Goodbye!"_

Now, when I slip back between the cool sheets of my bed, with the sun streaming in onto me, it doesn't feel like yet another immense failure...it feels like slipping into bed after a long night at work, when, despite the hour, sleep is a necessity...a reward for the previous night's hard slog...

Now, my night was spent differently, but the exhaustion that weighs down my limbs is no less...

As I lie in bed I can't help but consider, that maybe meeting John face to face, and some of the things I managed to admit, to him and to myself... were indeed progress.

I allow my tense muscles to relax and my eyes to drift closed...hoping all the while, for no further reminders of horrors, to disturb my slumber...


	13. Beginnings

I'm so nervous as I examine my face in the mirror, for any trace, any reminders, of what happened, that my body shivers with the prickly chill of a cold sweat.

I daub concealer onto the dark circles under my eyes, and any suggestion of yellowed bruising...it feels so unlike me, to be painting a mask onto my face for work, but I don't want to look broken ...and it allows me a little distance. A physical mask now replacing the smoke and mirror façade I had so carefully maintained for so long. Each swirl of the foundation brush, each dab of concealer, making it that little bit easier for me to slip on the bulletproof, invulnerable, persona that has allowed me to survive the last few years...

But that armor no longer seems so secure, it's fit no longer, exactly tailored to my needs...

John had wanted to pick me up, to be with me when I first walked back through the door...but I couldn't **need** anyone...I need to do this, myself...I need to be strong enough to stand on my own two feet...

I could see how disappointed he was, and how worried, but he seemed to understand...when I haltingly explained... _"I need to know... I can..."_

My legs don't feel stable as I pull on my coat, and the fear seems to bubble through my blood, every pump of my heart pushing it around me...

The weather is starting to warm as February has given way to March, but nothing can stop the cold stab of anxiety that strikes me, as I leave the house and tackle my regular route to work...

Over the last days, John has become...more than just my rock...I'm not sure how I could have gotten to this point without him...

Every day he has texted and called me...he has listened to tears, to anger...anything I've been feeling...and has never ceased to be there...always telling me the truth, but never letting that truth finish the destruction that always seems only a breath away. He is never blind to my reality...

As I lay in bed last night struggling to sleep, I couldn't help thinking that I never call him...it is always left to him to make the first contact. Despite how he is constantly holding me up, I still don't feel like I have the right to call him, to demand even more from him...

While my thoughts flitted between memories of what happened, and what I believe will happen if I'm ever faced with **him** alone again, I couldn't find sleep...

I knew that John would be there for me, if I called him...but I couldn't bring myself to. It felt so...weak...to need help, no matter how eagerly given it is...but somehow the knowledge that I **could** call him, and that he **would** help me, in any way he could...wasn't enough to allow me to sleep, but it did gave me comfort...

I'm ashamed of how much time, in my waking hours, as well as during the all too short periods of sleep, that my mind spends imagining a future where the man that hurt me is still a feature...where he is free to hurt me again...to hurt other people...

I spend so much time comparing what happened to me, to other attacks I've heard described, on TV, in books, on the internet... and somehow I always feel less...deserving...of any sympathy or help...like all the advice, the help on offer, is for other people...that even in **this** , I am somehow different...

I'm always so aware of how minor my injuries were...how much worse it could have been...

The man that hurt me was only a work colleague...not someone close...and yet, the betrayal, the treachery, I feel, is overwhelming.

I feel so betrayed by my own naivety, my own stupidity, that I didn't know what he was capable of...that I was blind to how dangerous he was...how can I trust my judgment of people now?

I knew before he hurt me **this time** , that he was a danger...I tried to avoid him...and I'm dimly aware that maybe this is why the images of what will happen if he is not punished, are never ending...there was no misunderstanding, no remorse, no regret from him...only more hate-filled words, and threats, as he was pulled off me...

And I feel so betrayed that he could do something so...horrible...

This is all that fills my head as I reluctantly, slog towards work...

I can barely push my legs to continue moving...each step seems to take me closer to some undefined, inevitable, new agony.

I am already aware that some of the people I am so afraid to face, can't quite accept what I have said happened...but I'm sure that John has tempered these views...trying to soften their blow...

Completely unbidden, I remember...the last time...I'm powerless to stop the haunting vision of a colleague standing before me, his stance relaxed, confident...his eyes cold, devoid of any doubt, or sympathy, a hint of a smirk curling his lips as he informed me; _"I bet you're sorry you did this now...he'll be back tomorrow!"_...when the investigation had found my allegations **unproven**.

The man who penned the report had carefully specified the word 'unproven', detailing how he had been unable to substantiate my specific accusations, but that it was a reluctant finding, and he believed that people had not been honest with him...I know the report's author wanted this to provide some comfort to me, to let me know that he believed me...but nothing past the word 'unproven' made any real impact...

My body involuntarily shivers at the memory, as I drop onto a nearby windowsill...perching awkwardly on its edge...grateful for anything that will stop me tumbling to the ground as my legs wobble uncontrollably...

**God what am I doing?**

I can't do this...

Every word in my head seems to lead me down yet another wormhole...

I can't help but see the parallels between 'I can't do this' and the words that became my mantra in the hospital, only a short couple of weeks ago...and have been repeated all too often since...

I try to regulate my breathing...to push back the waves of nausea...

It's so hard...

 **This** is the real beginning of trying to merge my new reality with my old life... **this** is where everything that happened, breaks out of the bubble I have thus far kept it in...

I really can't do this...I realize in horror...I really can't do this...

The words repeat in my head, until my lips are echoing them, unconsciously...

I begin to accept them, reluctantly,...sounding them out carefully... _"I can't do this..."_

But I find that when I say them now, surprisingly, the refrain acquires an unexpected extra word...

_"... **alone**..."_

My shaking hands pull out my phone. I haven't been comfortable wearing my headphones in public...the separation from my surroundings, making me feel too vulnerable...so I just slip in one ear, the mic hanging just below my chin...I hesitantly pull a number from my recent call list...

 _"Hello?"_ I hear from the other end...

 _"Hel...hello..."_ I whisper back, already doubting the call...

 _"Are you ok?"_ I hear the concerned voice ask...

I know I should be talking, but my mouth is not cooperating...

 _"Has something happened?"_ the voice asks gently...

I shake my head, no _..."I'm so scared..."_ escapes in a breathy whisper...

 _"Of going back?"_ he asks...

_"John...I'm scared..."_

He knows this, he spent hours on the phone with me last night, he has been through so many possible outcomes with me...but he doesn't sound irritated to be asked to revisit it...

_"Where are you?"_

_"I'm..."_ I start to answer before I realize I have very little idea where I am, I stopped so suddenly on a very familiar route I didn't take any notice of my exact position... _"I'm three blocks from work..."_ I figure out, as I look around me, this time seeing more than just prospective threats and dangers...

_"Do you want me to come...?"_

I cut him off quickly, _"No...I'm sorry...I need to this myself...I just..."_

I just ...what?

I want to force him to repeat all the reassurances he has already given me...

_"I'm sorry...I just got...shaky...it's ok! I'm sorry for disturbing you..."_

_"You're not disturbing me! I'm glad you called me... I've been watching the clock...I didn't want to crowd you, but I've been a nervous wreck! I can't tell you how many lame excuses I've tried to come up with, to go to your offices today..."_

This makes me smile a little...

 _"I guess I just didn't know how hard it would be..."_ I admit...

Somehow just admitting it, seems to calm me a little... saying it out loud allows me to hear the words...it is hard!

 _"You don't have to go in today..."_ he says softly...

I know...but I'm so close now...and I don't think I could face another day of worry...

_"I know you hate it, but this is a big deal...and if it's too much, you don't have to do it **today**..."_

Even though he is not even remotely saying what I want him to, his words are soothing me...I wanted him to tell me to _"get it together!"_ ...that we had talked this through, that it's only work...that **he** isn't there...that it is safe...but somehow what he is saying is decreasing the anxiety that had me worrying

I would die of a heart attack here on the street...

 _"It won't be any easier tomorrow..."_ I state as confidently as I can, while my heart is still trying to thump out of my chest...

I hear his stubble rub against the phone as he shifts it in his hand...

_"...another day of this waiting...building it up...may actually kill me!"_

He just sighs softly, almost like he can understand the logic behind the madness...

I try to pull myself upright, happy to find that my still shaking legs can, in fact support me...

My first few steps are uncertain, almost like the tentative steps that accompany trying on ludicrously high shoes, when there is no guarantee I will be able to balance as my body pitches awkwardly forward on the skyscraper heel...but as I regain confidence in my body's ability to carry me forward, I resume my journey...

I'm glad now, that my boss suggested coming in for 11am, rather than having to contend with rush hour...I can only imagine trying to find that moment's respite in the human flood that accompanies the regular morning commute...

 _"Will you stay on the phone with me until I get there?"_ I ask...

 _"Of course I will..."_ is his instant answer... _"What time are you in til?"_

He already knows the answer to this question; I know he is just trying to remind me that it's a very short day, that we have already planned he will pick me up when I finish...

_"Only 5 hours...I'll be done right before the evening rush hour starts..."_

_"5 hours! You could stand on your head for that long!"_

I can't help the small chuckle that escapes at that! I know it's an odd phrase, but it's something we have said so many times in the past, when one of us has felt like a bad day, or a detested job, would last forever...it is a reminder of strength, and that he still sees me as the same person...

A moment of silence falls between us as my feet continue to move me closer to the object of dread...

_"So...what did you decide about lunch?"_

Last night when we were talking this had been something I had chosen to focus on...debating whether it would be better to bring lunch with me so I could avoid any offers to go out to eat, or whether needing to go out for food would give me a convenient escape...

 _"Oh come on! It's morning! Was I ever really, making lunch before going to work? Even if it is later..."_ I admit laughingly.

A morning person I am not! So, as many times before, all my good intentions have fallen away as the morning has found me tired and grumpy!

 _"Oh thank fuck I don't have to worry that you have been replaced by aliens!"_ he mutters dramatically.

I roll my eyes at yet another regular, insider, joke between us...

As I come to a dead stop at the door, eyeing the keypad... I can't help the sigh that leaves me...

 _"Are you ok?"_ is the very soft question that my lament prompts...

_"How bad is it going to be? Please, John?"_

I can hear the hard swallow _..."I'm not sure...I think maybe, most people will say nothing...really..."_ he takes a deep breath before continuing _..."I think that people are aware that the police are involved and will be afraid of saying something they shouldn't...and some won't know what to say...some might say something stupid..."_

It seems ridiculous but as I mentally nominate the person who is bound to say something inappropriately stupid...the familiarity of the situation grounds me.

He never seems to be able to escape saying the wrong thing, but he is a good guy, he just always seems to choose loaded words...and has an odd way of linking thoughts together and no ability to verbally filter them...he is not politically correct, but somehow he is not offensive or nasty...and quite often he searches for a particular word and instead finds one that just makes everyone laugh...

I know that John is interpreting my silence as upset when he hastily adds, _"But none of them can possibly argue that you weren't hurt..."_

_"I'm just imagining what mangled indelicacy Owen will come out with..."_

_"Oh god!"_ is all I hear John groan...as he ponders this, as yet, unconsidered likelihood...

_"I think I'd kindda like it...it would be a sign of...normality..."_

_"Good...cos I think it's worse when he tries to say the right thing!"_

Once more we both chuckle, but now, nervousness runs below the mirth as I continue to stare at the entrance...

I take a final deep breath... _"John...I'm here"_


	14. Truth

I take a final deep breath... _"John...I'm here"_

All that I hear is silence. I know he is struggling too... He is scared for me...He has no idea what awaits me on the other side of the door, and he can't do anything to help me...there is nothing he can say to make any of it any better for himself, or for me...

 _"I'm gonna go...I'll see you later?"_ I finally choke out...breaking the silent impasse...

 _"I'll see you later"_ he echoes softly, _"Call me if..."_

I can't allow him to even begin, to put any of the myriad of things that could go wrong, or upset me, into speech...swiftly cutting him off before the words have a chance to form on his lips...

 _"I will...Thanks...Bye"_ , I whisper clenching my fists tightly.

 _"You are so strong! Remember that! Bye...!"_ he rushes before I hit the red button and disconnect the call.

My hands are sweating as I key in the access code and pull, then push, the door to get it to release. It has always needed that gentle tug back before the lock would release open, but there is no comfort in the familiar niggle, instead it sets my nerves even further on edge...

I wipe my hands on my jeans trying to fight back the panic.

I don't know where to go? Do I go to the boss's office? Do I head for the guys downstairs in the office, or out into the warehouse?

I pull the bag off my shoulder, wishing I had thought to bring donuts or something with me...anything that would shift the focus from me...but it's too late now...

I stand in the tiny entranceway, unable to move any deeper into the building, until the office manager starts to come down the stairs to my right...

 _"Hey! I'm so glad to see you back! You've been missed around here!"_ he announces with a smile.

I turn to him; glad he is the first one I am seeing...

He puts a gentle hand on my arm, it's a slightly odd gesture, it's like the beginning of a hug...and then I realize he's allowing me to choose whether it develops into that hug...

There is no thought at all as I reach out and embrace him, and he gladly returns it.

Gently pulling back, he makes very deliberate eye contact, _"How are you?"._

I shrug, unable, or unwilling, to answer that particular question, as I still hover uncomfortably in the entrance...

 _"I'm sorry I never answered your messages Tony,..."_ I begin to explain...

 _"I understand...but I wanted to make sure you knew the offer was there..."_ he interjects quickly...

 _"There's an argument over pricing a contract going on up there"_ he gestures up the stairs to the boss's offices _"come on, I'll make you a coffee...while they calm down..."_ he says leading me into the warehouse, towards the canteen...completely bypassing the offices..

The moment I step onto the wide-open floor of the warehouse, heads start to rise and turn, and the usual work noises temporarily cease...I dip my head down, summoning my hair forward, to hide me from the curious stares.

A couple of people try to make eye contact and smile, and even say _'hi'_ , but I just want to get up to the canteen as quick as possible...

As I almost, run up the stairs, I hold my breath, not wanting any outward signs of the emotions bubbling inside me, so when I shove open the door and turn on the light I'm panting as if I'd run a marathon.

Tony comes in behind me, quickly shutting the door, when he sees my face... as the regular work noises seem to slowly restart.

 _"Sit down, I'll make it..."_ he starts to say, as I shake my head. I need the distraction of an everyday task...

_"No, I've got it!"_

He just nods his agreement, as he chooses a seat at a table to my left, where he won't be directly behind me.

I pull open presses, grabbing out cups, then coffee capsules, filling the machine's water reservoir, all on some automatic muscle memory...

 _"So what's been going on here?"_ I finally ask, as I watch the coffee drip into the first cup. I can't deny that I'm curious what I have missed, but I'm also desperate for something to change my focus...

I'm so grateful for this man's kindness, when he doesn't make any reference to the enormous 'elephant' in the room, but instead, catches me up on all the inane gossip of the last weeks.

Our coffee cups lie empty and I'm chuckling at yet another example of Owen's ability to say absolutely the wrong thing, when Tony looks me in the eye and tells me;

_"The guys...they don't know what to say...but they hated the idea that you got hurt..."_

My eyes slip down to the cup I can't help but fiddle with...

 _"But not all of them... **believe**..."_ I whisper...

_"They know you were hurt...the rest...some of them don't have any idea how to even process it, they have no frame of reference...but there is no doubt in my mind..."_

I still can't shift my gaze up...

_"I just wanted you to know that... And I didn't want you to have to come in here on your own, which is why I watched for you on the cameras..."_

I forgot about the cameras! As I stood frozen in the entranceway, I never even remotely considered that I was on camera...

 _"Thank you..."_ is all I can whisper as my eyes sweep momentarily up, then back down to the table before me _..."I should really go down to the office...I'm guessing they're done arguing by now..."_ I mutter...trying to pretend it's something a lot less daunting...

He just nods. Allowing me to lead the way in my own time, pausing only to slip the two cups into the sink, as he follows me back out...

I study each step as I carefully, pick my way down half the stairs I so recently ran up, to the main offices on the mezzanine floor, knocking gently before taking a deep breath and walking in...

I had been so intent on keeping my eyes on the floor, on avoiding anything that might make it even harder, that I don't see the warehouse manager until we have collided.

 _"Sorry"_ I breathe, jumping back at the unexpected collision; trying not to allow the images in... fighting to open my eyes...to hold back the nausea...

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, as he steps cautiously, around me, _"Don't have me arrested too...!"_   he spits over his shoulder...

I can't help but wince at his harsh comment, and the cold sweat starts to bead in the small of my back once more...

My eyes never leave the floor as I move in front of the boss's desk, when I hear my name called...but I can still see him pull off his glasses, and drop them on the paper that litters his desk.

There's a minute of silence, as neither of us know what to say...

 _"So what's the plan for this job?"_ I mumble, trying to sound as normal as possible, _"I'm assuming it's pretty similar to last year?"_

The silence lasts a few beats longer until he grasps at the lifeline I am holding out to him...

 _"Yeah!... except I've had to change some of the equipment a bit...not all of the kit is still in stock...I see you had all of this last year, but I'm not sure what you used it for?"_ he asks pulling back on his glasses, and pointing to a couple of items on last year's invoice...

This is something I can deal with, this is familiar...I think as I round the desk, comparing the preliminary equipment order with last year's, I explain the use of the items in question, and point out where substitutions need to be adjusted...

When I look at my boss, he is scribbling notes as I speak, and in this moment, this all feels manageable...

 _"Okay, so can you go down and talk to them in the warehouse? Explain that?"_ he asks cautiously, after a couple of hours of phone calls to the client, when plans have been drawn up, when equipment lists have been finalized...

This is a very normal request, and something I usually prefer to do myself...not trusting the internal emails to be read carefully enough for all the small details to be absorbed, but now the question fills me with dread...

I force myself to nod, and drag my body up from the chair...

I bypass the warehouse manager, not wanting to risk anymore venom...instead heading out to the warehouse to speak to each of the guys about what I need from their department...

My entire body feels as though it is tensed to its limit...as if I were pushing it beyond its abilities...instead of just standing with a piece of paper, **talking**!

Nobody is rude. Nothing overtly nasty is said...but I'm not oblivious to the barely concealed whispers...the judging stares... Nobody seems comfortable in my presence...and I'm definitely feeling out of place...

I try to remind myself that this isn't my place...I spend very little time here, I'm usually out on site...but it doesn't help...if anything it only makes me worry more about going onto site after the weekend, and I'm immensely glad to have the buffer of the weekend...not sure if I could force myself to continue this **torture** , in only a few short hours...

I anxiously ‘clock-watch’ for the remaining time, wishing that I could lose hours now, as easily as I have been doing so often, recently, when it was the last thing I wanted...

Just before I can leave for the day, Owen comes back from a delivery, and when he sees me, he immediately shouts; _"So you **are** coming back!"_

I can't help a trace of a smile, as I nod gently, _"I'm back..."_

The words are flat, monotonous, almost as if they are an unenthusiastic lie...

A huge beaming smile greets my halfhearted corroboration, as his eyes scan me.

 _"I knew that no **fucker** could keep you out for long!"_ he roars...

I'm reminded how young and innocent, he really is, as I realize he was looking for injuries, marks...when he scanned my visible skin...

As I expected, his unique bluntness, actually calms me...I don't feel quite so broken...despite the fact that I know he has been warned to be careful, and for him this is positively pristine behavior...

I feel accepted...

He doesn't seem to doubt my strength, or that I can return...and maybe even a little of that rubs off on me...

For a brief second, I believe that maybe my career isn't lost...

But as the forklift begins to turn, the corner of its load clips a storage bin, and the sound of metal crashing together, has me huddled against the wall...anticipating an attack...

Every head whips around, and as soon as everyone can see that no one has been hurt, a slow sarcastic hand clapping starts...then hoots and hollers...and while everyone else is taking great pleasure in the customary mockery and banter, that is an integral part of such a situation...I stay, leaning, shaking, against the wall...

No one is watching me, as I steal back to the office to retrieve my bag, passing my irate boss who is hanging over the staircase handrail roaring at the guys, _"For fuck's sake! What the fuck was that? What's been smashed now?"_

In the time it takes for him and the now, much quieter warehouse staff, to check that it was only metal work, and no real damage was done, I have slinked, unseen, out the front door...

I'm half a block into my escape, when my phone screeches for attention. I try to swallow back my panic as I swipe at the screen...

_"Hello!"_

_"You just walked past me...are you ok?"_ I hear in quick response...

I stop dead in my tracks, his voice snapping me slightly, out of my anxiety...

In my terror, I had completely forgotten we were to meet ...I turn around looking for him, unable to see clearly, as long withheld tears finally force their way out...

My phone is still pressed to my ear as his dash bring him to a stop just in front of me...

 _"What happened?"_ he asks breathily...his breathlessness more a result of dread than physical exertion...

I just shake my head, finally pulling the phone from my ear, shoving it into my pocket...

He appears to be able to see how deeply mired in panic I am, and he looks around us, searching...

 _"Do you want to get coffee? Late lunch?"_ he asks softly...

I'm not hungry. I'm not sure I could swallow anything; the lump in my throat is threatening to choke off my air even before I try to force food down...but I can't face being in a small space, a car...so I gladly accept his suggestion...taking comfort in the presence of someone who isn't a threat.

I'm very grateful the McDonalds he leads me into, is light and airy...I pull my debit card out of my bag as John places his order, when the server turns to me I unthinkingly, order a large vanilla latte and some fries, shrugging in agreement when he suggests " _Large fries?"._

I'm not listening, but when the server seems to be finished repeating our order, I tap my card against the terminal he gestures to when he sees the card I'm grasping, before John can pull his wallet from his pocket. When the transaction is confirmed with a soft beep, I shove the card back into the pocket in my bag, nodding as John frowns and thanks me.

He tells me to go find a seat while he waits for our food...

I look around the restaurant, instinctively heading for the far corner, slipping into the bench seat that surveys the whole room.

I'm barely settled, when John slips into the seat opposite me, turning the tray to present my coffee and fries...the latte has a swirl of cream on the top and I grimace slightly, in my rush I never thought to ask for no cream...I just scrape it into the lid with the little wooden stirrer, unable to summon much care for such a small hiccup...

I feel the hot liquid burning down the back of my throat as I hurriedly swallow, so I begin to idly pick at the fries instead...

 _"What happened?"_ he questions again softly, as I just stare into space...

Tears prick my eyes once more, as I mentally catalogue the day's events.

 _"Nothing really..."_ I mutter, shaking my head and shrugging... _"nobody really said or did anything...I mean, the warehouse manager crashed into me, and told me not to have him arrested **too**...like that's what I did **when**...but..."_

It would be almost impossible to miss the fury that crosses his features at that comment, but he pushes it down when I stop talking...

 _"I'm sorry"_ he mumbles softly...

Again I shrug, _"It wasn't half as bad as I was expecting...but...the forklift...knocked over some metal work...and I couldn't..."_

He winces at the thought of the clattering metal...and my ragged nerves...

_"I was worried about how people would behave...how they would treat me...but...I can't...it's the stupid stuff...the sound...I couldn't..."_

He reaches out, gently patting my tightly clenched fist... _"It was only the first day..."_

I can't help my shaking head, _"I didn't even look to see was I in danger, I was too scared...I spent the day looking for dangers...but then when there was a real danger..."_

The tears I was holding back break forward...

_"I can't relax...I can't work...I can't concentrate...I could hurt someone...or I might not see **him** coming..."_

The fear I had been denying so desperately has burst its way out...


	15. Mask

I thought it would be easier...after going into the office on Friday...I thought it wouldn't hold the same terror, that awful dread...but as I sit in my car, watching the minutes tick by, I can't begin to fathom how this could be any worse...

When the radio news marks the hour changing, I can't put it off any longer...I'm now late...

I grab my bag, clicking the remote to lock the car, looking longingly back at the safe space, as I force myself to walk away.

This is a site I know, somewhere familiar to me, yet now, I struggle to see anything I recognize.

Stepping through the door, I wonder was it always so...shadowy? The high ceilings are dotted at regular intervals, with big industrial light fittings, but their light wanes before the next can completely cover the darkness...

I'm very conscious of every nook and cranny...as I trudge across the space that seems much bigger than ever before, feeling every eye on me.

 _"Morning!"_ I announce without eye contact, to my gathered colleagues, as I start digging into my bag for the plans I wish I had taken the time to locate before getting in here...

The phone pealing at me, as I search through my bag, threatens to push me into panic...but I force myself to keep up the façade of a capable workingwoman.

 _"Hello"_ , I answer sharply....

Our new truck driver is in the grounds, but not sure, which building, or which door, he is aiming for...so I dispatch a couple of guys to guide him in, simultaneously rolling up the shutter to allow him to reverse the trailer in. As the door rolls up, a strong wind cuts through me; I shiver, but it's oddly welcome, a reminder...that the odd, dispassionate, numbness that envelops me now, isn't complete, I can still feel, I can still connect with the world around me, even in this most basic way...

I try to hide in the work, to take refuge from everything else, but I struggle to remember that I'm still not back to 100%. My body isn't shy in telling me when I'm pushing myself too hard though, and every time I'm physically compelled to step back, it feels like failure. I've always prided myself on how I don't need, or look for, special treatment because of my gender, but **he** has taken that from me now too... I just can't do the same as everyone else.

As the equipment starts to fall into place outside the truck, I can't be sure if it's my imagination, but no one seems to get close to me.

The usual, small, collisions that are part of such activities are almost entirely absent; everyone is being much more cautious about their physical proximity to me...

So I do the only thing I know how to; I work...and try to detach from the fear, the anxiety...

Despite the practically constant, reminders of how nothing is quite the same now, the morning passes with relatively little repercussion...

I'm still feeling uneasy...I don't set foot out of the main area...I try to ignore the curious stares...the whispers...but I begin to dare to hope...

All that changes at lunchtime...

As we wander out for something to eat, there is no more work to focus on, and there can be no more denial that everyone is at the very least, a little uncomfortable with me.

The eatery is crowded, and as we pile onto the curved couch surrounding the small tables we shove together, one of the three individual chairs that face the group seating is carefully left open for me.

I try not to take any offense...I'm grateful not to be pressed in between the guys, but it still feels like a rejection.

I slide into the seat and study the menu carefully, even though I know there is really nothing I want, I order soup, not even caring enough to ask what the soup of the day is, and quickly busy myself fiddling with my phone.

Eventually, Andy starts to make idle conversation with me...talking about football, TV...safe topics...but it means so much...

_"Ehmmm...we know...you might not...be...up to... a full day...yet?"_

I want to cry, but he deserves much more...he has had the courage to touch on a subject that clearly makes him uncomfortable; I owe it to him to meet him part way...

_"I'm not sure yet...I'm not completely...100%...so maybe?...thanks..."_

I'm aware that my words don't make sense, but he nods slightly.

Our brief exchange doesn't go unnoticed by the others, and I hear a muttered comment about _"equal pay, equal work"..._

I can't isolate the comment to one person, and no one seems eager to claim it, but a smattering of chuckles and smirks follow closely in its wake.

A couple of faces don't seem so amused, but the atmosphere feels oppressive now...

The unclaimed comment reminds me of something said by one of the very few other women who used to work alongside me all those years ago...I can see her clearly, in my mind's eye; her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side, _"You made it **that** much harder for women in this industry...now the guys are afraid of us..."_ She, like so many others, has fallen away as the years passed, but I can't help imagining what she would say to this latest development? And how much harder **this** will make it for the women of the future? Or will it just make them safer?

I excuse myself to wash my hands, hiding for a few moments, in the only place I can...

Blessedly, the ladies restroom is quiet, and I sit onto the closed toilet seat, allowing my shoulders to drop, my head to fall into my hands...

I wasn't naïve enough to believe there would be no fallout...I knew the best I could hope for, would be for my actions to be greeted by confusion... I knew that with the police involved, there wouldn't be too much blatant nastiness...but this is agony...

When I slip back into my chair, in the midst of my rowdy colleagues, it feels that bit more isolated.

I sip at the soup that is placed in front of me, trying to decide how much more of this day I can stomach...

I'm not finished spooning my distraction into my mouth when the guys start to stand up, each paying for their lunch before heading out to smoke, or to the store for snacks. The food that I had no interest in now becomes riveting, as I balance it against the prospect of returning to work.

Andy is the only one left, as he turns to me _..."Don't pay them any heed!"_

I try to smile at him, but I know it is not convincing, it's much more of a grimace...

 _"It should never have happened..."_ he whispers...

His face shows his disgust, as he tries to make eye contact with me. He nervously strokes his beard, speaking softly...

_"I'm so glad that you're back, but it must be so hard...if I can do anything to help, just let me know..."_

_"Thanks"_ is all I can force out, but it means more than I'm capable of showing without my shaky façade completely collapsing...

We reluctantly head back to work, and I bury myself in the minutiae, until I realize that the arrival of other specialist suppliers is imminent.

My pulse rate skyrockets, as my body temperature plummets...what if **he** is on his way here now?

I feel instantly queasy. Somehow it hadn't even occurred to me, until now...I had been so intent on myself, this possibility had eluded me...

I try to convince myself that someone would have told me...if **he** , was possibly working on this contract...even if **his** company was on it... **wouldn't they?**

I know it's my job to communicate with whatever company shows up...to make sure we all have the same information...but I want nothing more than to flee... Andy is more than capable of filling in for me, if I leave...as are some of the others...it's my client, but I'm not irreplaceable if I can't do it...

Before I can make a decision, I see branded vehicles starting to arrive...and the sense of relief when it's John's company is indescribable...

I'm not surprised he's not here; I know he is working on something else, but I can't help wishing...as his colleagues make their way over to me.

The remainder of the day passes by without further incident...the arrival of so many others, diluting the isolation I had felt so keenly, in the early part of the day.

My mask stays firmly in place, until I can be alone in my car, at the day's end. Then, the effects of the stares, the questions about my abilities, the unease of the people around me, all unleash themselves, and I sit, buckled into my seatbelt, sobbing.

This becomes the template for my week.

Each day starts with me trying to swallow down the anxiety of what awaits, before pushing myself to go in...for the most part, I successfully camouflage all the internal tumult behind that mask of invulnerability and professionalism.

But it's like the mask can only hold it all back for so long...and each evening finds me, sobbing my heart out, in my car...crying until my throat hurts, my nose is stuffed up and my head throbs ...but still, there is no relief to be found in the burning tears...and the cycle just restarts the following day, a seemingly unending sequence...

As the week, and the thankfully short, contract come to an end, I find myself, once more, belted into the driver's seat of my car, crying over perceived slights, muttered cruel comments and the fear that doesn't seem to diminish...until there's a gentle tap on the window...

I jump at the interruption.

I'm terrified, but I try to wipe away the tears, hiding my head as low as I feasibly can, raising only my eyes to see who it is, conscious that I'm still at work...I need to try to keep it together...

When I see John standing there, the tears push their way back out...I grab my bag off the passenger seat, throwing it and my jacket into the back...unconsciously inviting him in...

He moves around the car, heading for the seat I've just cleared, waiting patiently, as I click the doors open.

As soon as he has closed his door, I click the switch again, checking the lock beside me...

 _"You can't keep doing this to yourself..."_ he whispers...

I just nod gently, hating myself for allowing the words in; for considering them, despite their veracity...

I can't even, summon the strength to deny the implication in his statement, that it's not the first time this has happened.

 _"Bryan noticed your car a couple of days...he saw you walk out, but not drive away..."_ he explains lightly, _"He told me there have been some comments...?"_

 _"I knew there would be...it's not so bad...I can take it..."_ I try to convince him...and myself...

 _"You shouldn't have to..."_ he counters so softly, I can barely hear him. _"Maybe you should try talking to Mr. Barba? Or Olivia?"_

I shake my head, _"I don't want to cause more trouble...and nobody has done anything serious enough to bother them..."_

_"Just think about it? A call?"_

He has been so good to me. We have been talking most evenings after work, but I've been trying to lead him to believe that things are better than they really are. He has been so supportive, but weeks have passed, and no one wants to hear the same complaints over and over...I need to begin to look like I'm getting over it...silently also hoping that maybe the pretense might even be enough to jumpstart some real healing.

But as I look at the man beside me, it's clear that he hasn't been fooled by my attempts...and his worry for me, is only growing...

 _"This is so hard...and it hasn't gone to...court...if I lose..."_ my breath is coming in gasps now, _"I wish I'd never reported it...I don't want this ahead of me...I just want it to be over..."_

He pulls out his phone, selecting a contact before holding it out to me...Olivia's name is on the display, but I can't bring myself to take the outstretched phone...slowly meeting his eye, I nod softly...as he hits the call button, switching it to speaker...

My breathing is shallow as the call connects, the ringing filling the car...

 _"Lieutenant Benson!"_ she answers quickly.

My lips move soundlessly, and I look to John in panic...

He introduces himself, and begins to explain the situation, as I continue to sit, frozen, unable to speak...

I hear my name coming from the phone, and she begins to talk me through a breathing exercise, designed to help me calm down ...until I find my voice...

_"I'm sorry!...I don't know if I can do it!..."_

_"It's ok...there's nothing you have to do right now! We can come back to all that later!"_ she assures me softly, _"John says you're having problems at work?"_

I nod tightly _..."It's nothing...serious...I mean, it's not a police matter...no one has done anything criminal...but it's ...so **difficult**..."_

 _"I know..."_ she sighs deeply... _"I **know** how hard it is. You've done amazingly well! You've had the strength to go back, and you've proved you can do it...I think maybe we need to get you some support...so you can decide if this job is what you want? And to help you work through it, if it is what you want...Does that sound like something you could do?"_

I look to John, who nods softly at me.

_"I don't know what I want...it's all getting so badly on top of me...but yeah...maybe?...what do you mean by 'support'?"_

John smiles widely at me.

_"I know you aren't very eager to see a therapist one on one...how would you feel about a support group?"_

I bite my lip, thoughtfully... _"I could give it a try..."_

_"I know it feels like weakness, but it's not!... I've attended a survivors group, and a therapist...and it can really help!... My boyfriend... attends a support group for partners of sexual assault survivors, I think it has a huge role in making our relationship work...and I know it has helped him hugely..."_

Somehow this admission makes the idea more palatable.

Strangely, it's not even her need for support that sways me, but the fact that her boyfriend attends a support group to help him deal with her assault. This nameless, faceless, man, helps me understand how deep the effects of an experience like mine, can be...

 _"I guess I'm still struggling with how much this has affected me..."_ I whisper...sneaking a sideways looks at John, as the words escape...

He looks shocked and unsuccessfully, tries to hide it.

 _"It takes a long time to really, fully, understand the effect...it impacts almost every part of you..."_ I hear her assure me _, "...but it helps to hear other people confirm that it isn't just you...to hear other people, who really understand, say some of the things you can't bring yourself to voice..."_

I smile slightly, at this honesty _..."It does...maybe a support group might help!"_

_"I'll send you the details of a group...and don't worry about the case right now, worry about yourself, and when there are decisions to be made, we can see how you feel then..."_

Even this comment is enough, to take some of the pressure off me, my chest immediately, rising easier...as if a weight has been lifted...

She has a few words for John too, gently telling him how glad she is, that he is there, trying to support me, and how he did the right thing by calling her...

He looks anxiously, at me, almost as if he is afraid this comment will somehow, offend me...but I can only nod weakly, in agreement...

Olivia wishes us both a good evening, and repeats her offer to help in any way she can...

 _"Thank you John..."_ I mutter, as he pockets the phone, hoping that he can understand, in my feeble words, the depth of my gratitude...

 _"The support group...could be a good idea?"_ he raises the subject once more, very tentatively...

I nod, _"I don't know what to expect...or if it can really help...but..."_

I can't say the words out loud but he seems to understand how desperate I am...how low I really feel...how I'm willing to try almost anything...

_"Why didn't you call me? Tell me?...how hard this is...?"_

The question threatens to raise my defenses, until I notice how soft his voice is, and how concerned he looks...

I try to look away, I don't want him to see me breaking...but he reaches across and gently slips his hand under mine, squeezing it slightly...

_"I know I can't do much...but I want to help...if I can..."_

He has seen me cry...too many times **since**...but this is more than tears, it's even more intimate than the terror-driven meltdown he witnessed when he first visited my home... **this** is not a shock-triggered panic, or an unwanted, unexpected, memory filled blubber...

 **This** is like unlocking the essence of who I am, setting it all out...and just hoping he doesn't intend to hurt me...but the words tumble out before I can halt them...

_"It shouldn't be like this...I shouldn't be so... **broken**...it's been too long...why am I not getting over it?"_

He doesn't seem to realize his face has frozen in shock, or that tears are welling up in his eyes...and I know I've said too much...

_"I'm sorry! I didn't really sleep...last night...I'm just tired..."_

His hand releases mine, patting it softly instead...

 _"No!"_ he stutters...shaking his head... _"I...ehmmm..."_

Again he just tails off...his hands rubbing his face, slipping around to clasp together behind his neck...his breath coming in a series of long, deep, gasps...

_"I...didn't want you to know...how much of an effect...and I wasn't the one...who was hurt..."_

He ducks his head down, trying to catch my eye...and when I finally, reluctantly, meet his gaze, my head not turning, my eyes simply slipping sideways...he continues, his voice so quiet, I find myself straining, softening my own breathing, in an effort to hear his words...

_"So many nights...I can't get to sleep...or wake up...! Now, when I'm first on-site...or last...I can't help wondering...it's like I never saw how vulnerable we can be...how many 'quiet' or dark corners there are...every time, I'm in a vehicle with someone else, I wonder if they could...I didn't know **him** , not really...and we all knew he was a dick!...but not **that**...it's like now, anyone could be...a monster..."_

He smiles bitterly...

_"It's a little bit like when I finally admitted I'm getting old, and got the glasses I needed...all of a sudden, things were clearer...all the things I never noticed I was missing the detail of...I was so oblivious..."_

He swallows deeply, drawing in another gulp of air...

_"My point is...I wasn't hurt...but I can't forget it...I can't just leave it behind and move on...and I only saw a little...you lived it...of course you can't be over it already..."_

I know that this was a hard admission for him, that he is only telling me these secrets, so I can open up in return... so I don't feel as bad for my own lingering effects...

He sniffles a couple of times, his gaze leaving mine...there's no denying the truth of his words...and I know that regardless of his public image, he is also struggling, but I can't bring myself to let out the words that are battling, so hard, to get out...

The thoughts are flicking through my head, all the things I want to say...each one slamming against the unseen barrier, pilling up...but something deep inside, won't allow me to vocalize them...

My mouth opens a few times, but I can only shake my head...

 _"It's hard?"_ he asks in a whisper.

I nod my assent.

_"Because it is hard..."_

I can't help a slight gurgle; not even sure myself, if it signals a laugh or a sob...the simplicity of his statement, is blindingly powerful...

I'm having a hard time, struggling so desperately, because it **is** such a difficult thing to deal with...

Another few moments of silence pass, and I wish I could say something...my inability to find my voice, yet again, leaves me feeling frustrated and helpless...

There's a powerlessness, which comes with that silence...

As if, not being able to voice the thoughts that pummel my psyche, means I lose some of the ability to manage them...

But once more, he seems to have some sixth sense of when to back off...

 _"You ready to get out of here?"_ he asks...

I turn to him, nodding vehemently...

_"You good to drive?... or we can leave one of the cars here, pick it up over the weekend?"_

I pull the car keys from the center console, where I threw them, when the tears started. Shoving them into the ignition with a sideways look, I silently make my answer clear...I'm driving myself home...

Never one to resist a challenge, even if it is only implied...in a halfhearted gesture, he grins at me...

_"I'm not racing! Even though I'd probably win...and that's **with** stopping to get dinner!"_

I raise my eyebrows at this assertion...rolling them dramatically for added effect...

 _"So, Italian or Chinese food?"_ he poses thoughtfully...

 _"Mexican!"_ I counter...with a smirk...

_"You think that's gonna stop me eating your dinner? Just cos you smother it in hot sauce?"_

_"I can hope...!"_ I mutter, smiling at the idea...remembering how red his face got when he slipped fries off my plate at lunch years ago, mistaking the hot sauce they were smothered in, for ketchup...

_"Won't work!...I'll just be more careful bout the bits I take!..."_

My smile is even wider now...

_"You wanna go home? Or come to mine?"_

I'm smiling, but the day has been long...and I wasn't lying earlier when I said I'd had little sleep...

_"Would it be ok, if we went to mine? I'm a..."_

He quickly cuts me off, " _It's perfectly fine! You don't have to explain!...Besides your place is closer to a better Mexican restaurant!"_

I offer to be the one to stop for dinner, as we place our order online, but he reminds me jokingly, about the long wait he would then have, outside my door... so I relent, with another dramatic eye roll...

As he steps out of the car, I can't help feeling glad that I won't be alone with my demons this evening...

He watches me start the car, and pull out of the spot I've been sitting in for too long, before he walks over to his own car.

All that he confessed to feeling, begins to hit home for me, as I wait for a gap in the flow of traffic...his headlights coming into sight behind me, when my eyes flick up to the rearview mirror...

I know Olivia told me not to think about the case for now, but I can't help it...the fear of it is never far away...but tonight, I feel like I've found yet another reason **not** to abandon it...I'm not the only person **he** hurt that day...and maybe if I can't do it for myself, I can do it for him...

This thought is enough, to at least temporarily, settle the icy butterflies that fill my stomach every time the idea of the trial steals into my head...

Somewhere inside my head there's a tiny voice nagging that I should really be doing it for myself...for what **he** did to **me**...but I console myself with the fact, that maybe I can find the strength to do it, at all...trying not to allow my mind to wander back to the barrage of questions I was subjected to, in Mr. Barba's office...

Instead I try to imagine the survivor's group, conscious that Olivia has probably emailed me the details...I can't quite get a clear picture in my head...and my nerves begin to flutter again...

The magnitude of Olivia's disclosure, that she has been part of such a group, was not lost on me, but still, it is the divulgence that her boyfriend has also found support in such a gathering, that astonishes me...

I try to imagine what kind of man he must be?

He must be incredibly brave...to not only admit he was having difficulties dealing with what happened to her, but to take such a courageous step to address those difficulties...

I'm filled with admiration for this unknown man...

And once again, it gives me hope that maybe I can benefit from a group...as I have benefitted every time Olivia shared something from her own experiences...even just knowing I'm not the only one to suffer from nightmares, has allowed me great relief...

John has been amazing...he has been so open...but there are some things I don't want him to hear me say...

Maybe the words won't be so difficult, when I don't know the people that will hear them? When I don't fear their judgment, or losing their respect? When I don't have to worry about how my words will affect our relationship?


	16. Help

I think it's helping...

I'm definitely not any worse...so is that the same as helping?

I do sometimes, leave a support group meeting in a worse state than I arrived...facing the pain, that seems to have endless layers left to assault me with, each almost worse than the last... takes a very high toll. I try to convince myself that it's yet another of the circles of hell traversed...studiously ignoring how each circle also brings me perilously, closer, to the depths of the abyss, and increases the already unbearable suffering... blindly trusting that a route out of this agony will soon make its presence known...this torture just can't last forever!

Can it?

Quite often the nightmares are worse the night after group; each realization, that hopefully takes me closer to that escape, also disrupts some precarious balance...I can't help thinking that I have become a human form of some advanced Jenga game; where pulling at the wrong block, will collapse the entire shaky structure...

But I think it's helping...or maybe I can't allow myself to question it too hard? It feels like the only chance I have left...maybe I just need something to believe in... to be able to imagine, that a day will come, when I can restore some semblance of normality...

Perhaps, it just needs to be gone through, before I can move on from it? Like losing someone close...you have to accept it; feel the loss, feel the emptiness...you have to realize how much you miss them, before the memories can become something that make you smile again, rather than sob...

I can't say the fear or anxiety is gone, maybe not even really diminished...but I think I'm learning to accept it...sort of...I can hear, at every meeting, women echoing this unease, this apprehension. In them, it sounds perfectly reasonable...after what they have been through, but my own angst is somehow an over-reaction, and yet more proof of my dismal failure...

I hate that I'm still not really comfortable in my own skin...but after listening to some of the survivors speak at group...I'm beginning to understand that what happened to me, quite literally, **violated** that skin...Never before, did I understand the real meaning of that word in this context. We sometimes use it to avoid words that are deemed 'more difficult', or to soften a story...but is it not every bit as harsh? How does using a word that has synonyms ranging from sullied, desecrated, broken, abused, and defiled, to intruded upon and encroached upon, make the horror more palatable? And should it be softened, for an unseeing public, or should we be forced to confront its awfulness in words, that may be uncomfortable, but convey the truth?

I have to rebuild my trust in my own judgment.

I need to feel that I'm healing...and maybe the first small steps towards such a lofty goal, have been staggered...but progress just comes too slowly...and every tiny step is so hard won, the immense effort seems hardly rewarded in such plodding advances.

It took a few meetings before I was willing to speak at group...I was actually, on the verge of not going back...the misery of hearing things being said by women who purported to be just like me; but none of their words really felt like they could be mine, was quickly becoming too much for me to endure...

Just like so much of the online help I found, it felt like it wasn't for me...when a new woman came in for the first time...

Her face was still bruised, and her feelings were so raw; her assault, was clearly **extremely** recent...I found myself realizing that I had felt exactly the same things; that I was, once, also, that raw...I began to see that where I am now, is actually progress of some sort...that the healing I was so desperate to begin, is already underway...

I finally found my voice, to tell her that I understood, that she didn't have to hide her pain, and that I had felt very similar...

She looked at me carefully, studying the expression on my face as she asked; _"When does it get better again?"_

But I didn't have an answer for her...and as I watched her face fall in disappointment, I could see how she didn't feel like she fit into this group either...so, clutching the sides of the plastic chair, my knuckles white, I spoke up...I don't remember exactly what I said; only that some of the carefully guarded truths, about my feelings of inadequacy and failure, spilled out...

And all of the women, who I had judged, much more healed, much more in control, than me...nodded softly...

Slowly, stories of their first meetings began to be shared...and I started to understand...everyone is at different points on their own personal journey...and that is the power of the group. It is not linear. Our healing is as unique as we are. And when I stopped comparing, how far behind everyone I felt I was...I began to discover that, even in things that aren't on my radar yet, there is power in giving it a voice, with people who understand.

When another woman discussed how her pregnancy had brought some long forgotten feelings back to the fore, even though I can't imagine ever seeing myself as a sexual being again...ever wanting, or embarking on a sexual relationship...never mind being pregnant...I found tiny things that I **could** identify with...and it made me smile slightly, because maybe there is the possibility...that I won't always be this sexless creature...

When I whispered those words to the women who are fast becoming my closest confidants, there were some shy smiles...and a couple of gentle admissions...that _“sex won't always be some distant memory of pleasure”_ , or a “ _nightmare inducing, recollection of an unwanted act of penetration”_...

I tried to imagine sharing a bed with a man...touching him, and being touched in return...but it is still too much of a stretch...I can't imagine trusting anyone like **that**...but as the subject turned to men, I suddenly realized, that my main supporter...my friend...the person I talk to...the person I feel safest with...is John...

He, is somehow exempt from this unfocussed fear...because he is not just a man, he is my friend, with a distinct personality, someone who is always there for me...and I began to understand how possibly, at some distant future point, I could maybe, open myself up to someone...

And when the meeting finished, I made a bold move, not waiting for John to call me, as has become our routine...I called him...

I heard him smiling as I told him how I feel less and less, like an outsider here, and when we met for dinner a short while later I found myself talking more openly about how I feel...

He eagerly listened, clearly identifying with some of my feelings...it felt like such a breakthrough...but as with so many of my feelings of progress, it was fleeting...

The support group, while helping me, isn't the magic solution I craved...I still don't feel like myself...I'm still struggling with the fact that one man can completely change me in such a short time...

Work is still difficult...I'm still very cautious...I'm always very conscious of my surroundings...I jump when people approach me from behind...when I'm travelling for work, I chain hotel doors and push a chair up against it...I don't like to travel in vehicles with people...

I still can't really talk about what happened, not at group, or with John, and I know there is a clock on that... I still can't bring myself to say the word I need to...preferring some euphemism when I need to refer to the experience...

_"A man I worked with... hurt me..."_

_"He attacked me..."_

_"My 'monster'..."_

They're all better than saying the words that seem so impossible, but none of them are able to encompass all that I experienced either...

It is something that I discuss with John; on numerous occasions...he seems worried that I can't say the word he feels I need to make my peace with, but he doesn't push too hard...just prompts me softly, gently, questioning my reticence...

Somehow, I'm still not ready when the phone rings, and it is Mr. Barba, to tell me that a date has been set for my trial...it seems like all the months that have passed since the first day I met him, when I collapsed into a puddle of panic in my apartment, have ceased to have any effect, when his announcement sends me grasping for something to help me stay upright...

Although I have regularly discussed the trial with John, and some of the other survivors from group, I have not revisited the conversation of my case, with either Olivia or Mr. Barba...

I'm barely able to absorb the conversation as he informs me of this progression, and extends an invitation to me, to come in to his office to discuss what this means...

With a parched tongue, I agree to a meeting in two days time...knowing that the clock has finally run down...

The terror of a trial has never really left me, but now it is all that I can think of...seeing **him**...hearing **his** version of events...having to answer questions that make my stomach churn...all the tiny details being made public...I'm not sure I can do it...

So, when the two sleepless nights pass, and his assistant shows me into the office, I take a seat before the well-dressed lawyer once more, and I decide to be honest with him...

_"Mr. Barba, I really don't want him to get away with what he did...but I'm terrified...of the questions, of seeing **him** , of what he will say..."_

He sits back into his chair folding his hands, surprisingly at ease with my words...

_"Lieutenant Benson will be here any minute...but I can understand that..."_

Now it is my turn to look surprised...I expected him to be, at the very least, irritated, by yet another about-face from me...

_"In the eyes of the law, you are a witness to the crime committed against you...and a trial is very difficult...but I would worry more if you didn't have these concerns...I would be wary that you didn't understand what you are facing..."_

Again, in these words, I see the man behind the lawyer...

_"I can't promise that he will be found guilty or even if he is, that he will be sentenced in a way you feel is appropriate...but I can promise to help you be heard...to help you to fight back..."_

His eyes are meeting mine straight on...he wants me to hear his every word...

_"It will be difficult...I may have to ask you questions on the stand that you will hate me for...I won't always be able to stop his lawyer from asking things that make you feel like you are the one who did something wrong, that you are the one on trial...but I will be fighting for you..."_

He continues to meet my eye, even after he has finished speaking...until a tap at the door draws both our attention...

 _"I'm sorry I'm late!"_ Olivia announces as she walks in.

 _"How are you?"_ she asks me, reaching out to shake my hand.

My eyes dart to the man behind the desk as I tell her how I worry about the trial... he seems to nod slightly to her, as if in the silent gesture he is telling her that he has tried to reassure me...

_"I can understand that...it's not easy. The only advice I can give you is; in all my years in SVU, regardless of the verdict, I've never known of anyone to regret going to trial...only people who regret **not** pursuing their case..."_

I frown slightly at this statement; it is something John has asked me a couple of times, when we have talked about it...

The question has come in a few different forms; _"How would you feel if you don't take it to trial?", "Wouldn't he be entitled to return to work if you dropped the charges? Could you go to work if he was likely to be there?", "What worries you most about the trial?", " What if he agreed to a plea deal?"..._

Maybe the fact that he challenges me is part of why I value his friendship so greatly...he is always there for me, but doesn't just agree with me...he questions me, softly, his concern never hidden...he is tentative with the more intimate questions, as if he is worried about pushing me too far...but he doesn't just agree with everything I say, for fear of upsetting me...

 _"This is something I've discussed a few times with John...I don't want **him** to get away with it, although I know it is still a possibility, even at trial...It's not that I don't want to pursue this to the bitter end...it's just that I genuinely don't know if I can...if I have enough...strength..."_ my head hangs slightly with shame at the admission...

 _"So you've talked to John about this?"_ she asks carefully.

I nod, " _Yeah! He has asked, pretty much, that question, in so many different ways...would I regret it if I didn't see it through?"_

She cocks her head, allowing me to continue...

_"I think I would regret it...and I don't think I could go back to work if it didn't even go to trial...but what about a plea deal?"_

Barba leans forward to answer this question _..."A plea deal would usually involve substantially reduced charges..."_

I swallow hard, somehow this hadn't really occurred to me...

_"It would very much depend on the circumstances, but it could mean that a sexual assault is pleaded down to a physical assault..."_

I try to absorb this fact.

_"I don't believe he would be open to a plea, at this point anyway, particularly, where he would be convicted of a sexual assault, and be subject to being on the sexual offenders register..."_

I understand that he is telling me that a plea isn't something he thinks is an option at this time...and I know I should take comfort in the fact he has confidence enough in my case to pursue it...but a chill of fear passes through me, twisting my stomach...

 

**A/N** **I couldn't resist the little reminder of memories for those who have stayed with me the whole way through...I see all the stories I have written being in the same timeline so I wanted a tiny nod to Rafael and Liv, I totally still see them together, but I don't think the OC will ever know who the nameless boyfriend Liv refers to is...and that feels right...but I like the fact that she knows the value of Rafael's actions in finding somewhere that he too, could be supported...and maybe it influences her a little to see a similar decision as strong and not weak.**


	17. Change

_"I don't believe he would be open to a plea, at this point anyway, particularly, where he would be convicted of a sexual assault, and be subject to being on the sexual offenders register..."_

I understand he is telling me that a plea isn't something he thinks is an option at this time...and I know I should take comfort in the fact he has confidence enough in my case to pursue it...but a chill of fear passes through me, twisting my stomach...

He says no more...just calmly looks me in the eye, waiting on my reaction.

A plea deal wasn't something that had ever really featured prominently in my imagined outcomes...it always seemed like an unrealistic, half measure...like sticking a band aid on a cut that needs layers of sutures to begin to close it successfully.

A plea deal wasn't something I had wanted, it wasn't the justice I craved, or the ruling I dreamed of hearing...but now that the option has been snatched away...it suddenly feels like a huge loss...

As Barba has implied, it probably wasn't ever really a viable option...and I didn't really understand what it was; I never grasped that the charges would most likely be drastically reduced; it wasn't even something we discussed...so why do I feel so devastated?

But as the words sink in, I can't deny how completely destroyed I feel...

_"I know...it wasn't ever...really...an option...it wouldn't feel... **right**...anyway...but..."_

I'm struggling to string a sensible sentence together...the only reason I'm even trying, is that it feels like what I have to do.

The room is heavy with expectation, that I feel the need to somehow, satisfy...

I just don't know how to meet these expectations...

Without any warning, I feel angry...a burning hot fury that comes out of nowhere...

The more I try to fight it down, the stronger it seems to become...

My hands curl into fists...

Like so many other things in my life now, I can't seem to control it...

I want to rage against...every **thing**...every **one**...

That curtain of red that people have talked about, feels so real...as it starts to descend, blocking out everything else...

It's so unfair...it's all so fucking unfair...

I can't stop my teeth from clenching...

And then, out of the blue, it feels like **this** , is how I got into this situation in the first place...I didn't want to cause a scene...I didn't want to over react...I was afraid to scream the place down in that first second, **in case**...in case **he** wasn't actually going to hurt me, in case I was wrong... **Why is doing the 'right thing' more important to me, than...anything...than my safety?**

It feels like, even after what happened, I'm still afraid to let anyone down, even this lawyer and this cop...I don't want to disappoint them, by backing out, even though I can't cope anymore...I want so desperately to do 'the right thing', to be a 'responsible adult'... to be a 'good girl', even though I'm an adult woman...that I try to swallow my fears...

 _"I can't do this...not **now**!"_ I bark.

Even as the rage fills me, I can't help feeling bad for snapping at the two people who are only trying to help me, and immediately relent...

 _"I'm sorry..."_ the anger smashes full force into whatever this latest feeling is, and the tears burst forward... _"It's too much...every time I think I'm getting a handle on it...it changes...I just want it to have all been some nightmare...I don't want to think about a trial...I don't want to have to think about a trial...but I want **him** to hurt...I want **him** to feel a portion of what I'm feeling...I'm so fucking angry...at **him**...at myself..."_

The words come as a complete shock to me...it's like I didn't realize I felt that way...as if, in all the other feelings that have been battering me, I never saw anger there...until now...and it threatens to overwhelm me completely...

 _"It's a lot to deal with..."_ Olivia says softly, _"It's ok to need some time...you need to look after yourself...It's ok to be angry..."_

She reaches out to me...and the hand that she puts on my shoulder feels like it is pulling me back down to the ground...anchoring me...dragging me out of a nightmare, back into reality, to a real world that is barely any better...

 _"I've spent months...trying to be ready for this..."_ I whisper, wanting to explain, _"...but yet...it feels like everything is moving too fast...I don't_ _know if I can do this...I want to...I think, I want to...but..."_

She nods sadly, _"It's ok...I know it feels like you aren't in control...but you are in control here..."_

My eyes seem to involuntarily, scan between her and the man who is sitting quietly, but not uncomfortably, listening to the exchange.

When my gaze lands on him, he softly nods his agreement...

 _"We are here to advocate for you...to help you..."_ she continues softly, _"we can't always make things easier for you...and sometimes deadlines are immovable, or questions need to be answered, but we are here for you...and we want to do what we can to make it more ...bearable..."_

She doesn't need to say anything more; her gentle words are enough to communicate her empathy, and her true understanding...bearable is the best I can hope for in this situation, there is no magic wand that can take away the pain, the struggle...

As always, that feeling that I'm not completely alone, that I'm not the first person to feel like this...goes some way towards lessening the fear that only seconds ago, was threatening to consume me.

But I can't help wondering if she only alluded to her own experience very obliquely, because the man in the room knows nothing of it...?

I try not to make my interest obvious, as I watch for any small signs passing between them...but she doesn't seem to be awkward or uncomfortable...and he doesn't seem to be questioning her statement, even silently, or trying to avoid her eye...

Not for the first time, I wonder if Olivia reported her own attack...if she went to trial...or if she speaks from experience when she talks about regretting not pursuing her own case...

I'm sure some of these questions could be answered with a Google search, but it feels too invasive...I would hate anyone to do such a thing to me...one of the things I am coming to understand, with the help of group, is the immense power of sharing your story. I couldn't steal someone else's story...everyone deserves to decide who should hear it, and how much that person should know...

As the support group meetings have added up, I've had the honor of hearing parts of some of the other women's stories. The cruelty and horror evident in the all too often, hesitant, whispered, sob-filled, disclosures... is heartbreaking.

But I've also started to understand, that hidden in their anguish, and my pain at listening to words that tear open my own unhealed wounds; there is also a deep honor. There is a profound trust in sharing the words with someone.

I still haven't been able to **really** tell anyone what happened...not in its entirety...even the statement I gave to Olivia back in the hospital, all that time ago, whilst it was the truth, and it was a lot more detailed than I was comfortable with...it wasn't every, tiny, detail... And maybe the shock that was still only taking root in that hospital room, went some way towards insulating me from the words that slipped from my lips.

 _"I can't even control my own emotions..."_ I whisper, exhaustedly. The seemingly, continuously changing emotions of the last few minutes seem to bear this out...the anger, the fear, the despair, all chipping away at what is left of me...

The man, who had stayed silent for so much of this conversation, now gets to his feet, walking around to perch on the desk beside me.

_"The emotions you are feeling, they're not weakness, they're not something to be ashamed of, or hidden...and for the trial, you need to show the jury some of those feelings, to help them understand the magnitude of what was done to you...we'll go over your testimony, and I'll do my best to preempt the defense's questions, to help as much as I can...but it will be difficult. You have to look after yourself too...you need to remember that you still have your life to live after the trial is done...”_

His eyes slip over to Olivia, as he pauses briefly...

_"Don't push down what you are feeling...I can't begin to imagine, what you are going through...but don't allow your case, to take priority over **you**...I've seen survivors work so hard to be the perfect witness, to not let the tears fall...that it hurt them even more... you can't only live for the trial..."_

He pulls in a deep breath; his eyes momentarily flick down, before he once again, meets mine...

_"We don't want to dissuade you from testifying, not at all...but I also don't want you to use this trial date as a target of sorts, to try to keep all you are feeling, pushed down, until after the deadline of the court proceedings. You know who you feel comfortable with...where you feel safe talking...allow yourself to lean on the people who want to help you..."_

His words hang in the air.

I can see he means what he says, that he actually cares about me, as well as my case.

 _"How can you say...those things...to someone...and expect them not to look at you differently?"_ the words slip out before I can stop them.

It feels odd that this man, who was until very recently, a stranger, doesn't put me on edge...and even though I wish the words hadn't found their way out, I need an answer...and I trust him, to try to give me an honest one...

I can see barely disguised pain in his eyes...as he searches for something to give me the hope and truth I seek _..."They're not words that...will ever be forgotten...they will most likely, cause shock, and pain...it's hard to think of someone you know being hurt like that..."_

For a second, his words remind me what Olivia said about her boyfriend needing help...and then it's John's admission of how much what he saw has affected him, that fills my mind...

 _"...but, it doesn't change how you see someone..."_ Barba continues gently, _"...because when we tell you that what happened wasn't your fault, it's not just words, it's not just something to say...you did nothing wrong...you have nothing to feel guilty or ashamed of..."_

This moves me deeply... I suppose he has seen all types of people sit in this chair before him...seen all types of reactions...and somehow his experience, and the fact he genuinely doesn't seem to see me as **less** , even after he has seen so much of my weakness, gives his words weight...

I'm grateful for his assurances, for the understanding he has shown me, and for the truth he hasn't tried to sugar coat...and I want to do something to return this sincerity...

_"It doesn't feel that way...it feels like I should have stopped it...and if I trust someone, and they don't...believe me...or hurt me..."_

I can only shake my head, my shoulders shrugging, as my thoughts refuse to be spoken.

The man before me seemingly has no more wisdom to share, as silence descends; this is the reality...my reality...

The quiet allows me to think...somewhere along the way, the trial, more or less, became an eventuality...

If I'm honest, I'm not sure it ever felt like a real choice...nobody put me under pressure, but, it just snowballed from that decision to go to the hospital...it was almost like, the moment I allowed the police to get involved, the future was preordained...

In some ways I'm not sorry...I **do** want some sort of justice...but maybe Barba is right; in trying to be a good witness, trying to go back to work like nothing happened, like nothing has changed, when **everything** is different now...maybe I have actually used the proceedings as a reason to deny some of the after effects...

It doesn't seem possible that there could be even more to deal with, but yet, there is so much I haven't yet addressed...

John's gentle reminder, that hiding from unspoken, difficult, words, doesn't change the events, or do anything to lessen the aftermath, is just one of the things that springs to mind...

 _"I know we need to discuss the case...but I...some of what you said, it, hit home...I think...I could do with a little time? If it's ok?"_ I whisper...

The lawyer gives me a curt nod but there is a ghost of a smile on his lips. Olivia doesn't hide her smile...

 _"Can I drive you home?"_ she asks gently.

_"I think...No! Thank you, I think I'll call a friend..."_

Both DA and lieutenant shake my hand, and tell me to take care of myself, as I gather my bag to leave...

I bite my lip, trying to sort through the mess of thoughts swirling around my head, as I make my way out of the building...I don't want to bother John again, he has already been so good to me, but there is no one else...it's John that I've always spoken to, it's John that seems to understand in a way that no one else does...

I try to push back the feeling of guilt for constantly being so needy, as I give in to the greater need for understanding...

 _"Hey John!"_ I try to sound upbeat as he answers the phone quickly...

 _"So how did it go?"_ he immediately shoots back, almost like he had been waiting for the call...

 _"I'm not sure...ok, I think?..."_ I muse, dropping onto a seat in the building's lobby...

 _"I'm trying not to launch a load of questions at you now, I'm sure you've had enough of that...but I really want to hear..."_ he mumbles.

 _"I know..."_ I nod softly, checking my watch, _"I've got a lot to think about...they said some things...I think I have some stuff I could do with talking about, if you have time later?"_

 _"Anytime!"_ he assures me, _"Do you want me to come over? Or would it be easier for you to talk on the phone?"_

The fact that he has noticed that some conversations are easier for me with the distance of a phone is even more proof, if any were needed, that he is someone I can trust.

_"You could come over, if you don't have plans, I mean?"_

_"I have plans to eat half your dinner again!"_ he chuckles. " _I should be done here by about 6:30...will I pick up food?"_

_"Nah, I've a while to kill, I'll cook something..."_

_"So I guess I'll make an appointment for both of us in the emergency room later...if you're going to poison me!"_

This gets a laugh from us both...

 _"Are you ok?"_ he whispers as the chuckles fade.

_"I suppose it's crunch-time...it has already been months, but in a lot of ways time has stopped for me...Barba told me not to keep pushing it all off to some future date...cos it won't get any easier..."_

He would be well within his rights to say he told me so, but there is no hint of it, as he just allows me to speak...

_"It feels like the effects have already been huge...and there's still so much...I haven't really talked about...or dealt with..."_

_"You can't deal with it all in one go..."_ he assures me lightly, _"...you've done so much, even though you can't see it...You have made so many huge steps forward...and I'll never know how you came back to work..."_

He's told me how immensely strong I am, to have gone back to work, as I did, so many times before...but maybe now, I am beginning to believe him...

 _"...The trial terrifies **me** , I can't imagine how you feel! But no one would bet against you...on anything...you've proven you can do anything you put your mind to...and I'd be honored to do anything I can, to help you get ready for it, if you would let me?" _he continues in a nervous rush.....

I take a deep breath, wanting to make the deal I've decided on, before he is standing before me...

_"I was going to ask you help me...but I need you to promise that you will tell me if it is getting too much for you; that you will get help too, if you need it...and that you will also talk to me?"_

I'm glad he doesn't immediately rush to answer; I hope it means that he is thinking through the conditions I have attached...

_"I know there are some things I can't say to you...some things that are just too hard...and there are probably things that you won't say to me either...I just want to know that you aren't hurting yourself more, by trying to help me..."_

Again, I take the silence that's greets my request, as a positive...

 _"I'm not sure what I'm agreeing to?"_ he asks softly...

_"I'm not asking you to go to a group, if you're not comfortable with that, John...just to tell me, that you're finding it hard too...or to talk to one of the detectives, or a friend, when you don't want to talk to me...You could even try one of the helplines if you wanted to...I just want to know that you are looking after yourself too..."_

_"Ok, I can agree to that...I know I'll have to meet with Mr. Barba again, before the trial...and the detective, Fin, did offer that I could call him..."_

I can't help a sigh of relief at his agreement...

 _"Thank you!"_ is all I can whisper _..."So, go do some work for a while...and I'll try not to poison you with dinner!"_

 _"Fair enough!"_ he answers with another chuckle... _"I'll bring dessert..."_

Our conversation finishes and I pull myself up off the bench, mentally making a shopping list as I make my way across town.

Wandering around my local grocery store I find myself beginning to relax as I roam the aisles; picking up some essentials, as well as the makings of dinner. I decided on something we both enjoy, but try not indulge in too often...a burger and fries...just opting to make them into sweet potato fries...

I know one of his favorite burgers has blue cheese on it, so I opt for a large grilled mushroom instead of a veggie patty for me, and a big, fresh, traditional, burger for him...adding tomato, lettuce, and onions to the sweet potatoes, already in the cart.

In the bakery department I pick up lovely fresh brioche rolls to use as buns, quickly ticking off the items on my list.

His finish time may not be exact, and traffic could make guessing his arrival time difficult, so I try to think of something we can pick at, while I cook the burgers. I know that double frying the sweet potatoes makes for deliciously crispy fries, and also means they won't take a long time once I'm ready to finish them, but it would be nice to have some sort of appetizer...

It's not the weather for soup, and he isn't a fan of the olive and antipasti trays I love, so I just search the shelves for inspiration...when I fall across a packet of assorted dips in the deli, I'm hit by inspiration...I grab some pitas; by adding garlic and herbs to some, smoky paprika and chili to others, and leaving some plain, I know I can easily make baked pita chips that will be good whenever he gets there...

As I empty the grocery bags and get to work on prepping quite a simple meal, I'm reminded how relaxing cooking can be...slicing veggies and playing with herbs and spices is something I used to do quite regularly. More recently, I just haven't been bothering...but maybe there is something more than just providing nutrition, to the process of cooking?

When the door finally summons me from the kitchen, the feelings of earlier are much more ordered, I feel more centered, less bewildered, and more in control. I can't help a wide smile as the door opens and I'm pulled into a familiar, tight, hug, once he has dropped the, as yet, unidentified dessert on the counter top.

Over a backdrop of regular, everyday, chatter, we tuck into the pita chips and dips, mixing different flavors as we sit at the breakfast bar.

 _"So how did the meeting at the DA's go?"_ he asks gently.

 _"It was...tough"_ I finally decide on, as I move back into the kitchen. _"He said something that really hit home..."_

I continue to speak, as I focus my attention on the food that has been left ready for the final preparation. I'm glad to have something to do as we have this conversation; it makes it easier to not have to watch his reactions...

_"He told me that I can't live just for this trial...that I can't try to put off dealing with...everything...until the trial is finished...I can't keep hiding from what I'm feeling..."_

The food was left ready, there really is no need for me to stand here and watch it cook, but I find, I still don't want to meet his eye as I voice what is in my head...

_"There's so much that I don't want to say...to deal with..."_

I'm so grateful that he isn't trying to interrupt to tell me it's ok, or that it will all work out...

_"I'm angry...at what **he** did...and that I still can't really bring myself to even name **him**..."_

I know I need to familiarize myself with saying **his** name before I find myself on the stand testifying, but I can't expect to do it all in one day...so I promise myself to come back to that later...

_"I'm terrified...that I brought this on myself...I knew I was in danger! I knew what **he** was capable of...and I had been thinking...trying to decide whether I should quit my job, to be safe...or whether I should stop fighting so hard, and just let whatever...happen..."_

The last word is barely a whisper and there's a huge battle going on deep inside me; I want to know if he is horrified by my confession, but can't bring myself to turn around...my head drops lower and the words tumble out so quietly, I'm not sure he can even hear them...

_"I didn't want him to hurt me...but I needed to know I wasn't crazy...I just needed some sort of confirmation..."_

I know he has heard me, when my whispers are greeted with almost absolute silence...and I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder.

He is leaning forward on his arms, his mouth dropped open in cartoon-like disbelief.

I turn back to the cooker, gratefully flipping the burger and mushroom, and dropping the fries back into the oil.

 _"No!"_ I hear him croak. _"No! You didn't bring this on yourself!"_

I hear the stool push back as he rounds the island that had been between us.

He is very careful to catch my eye before he puts his hand on my arm, turning me to face him. As my body turns, my face drops. I can't bear to look at him.

_"I can't begin to imagine how hard it must have been...to know how much danger you were in, but yet, for all of our actions to seemingly question that...to undermine it...I think I can see why you might feel like that, but it was just something you thought! It never meant that you had any intention of letting him hurt you. And when it came to it, you didn't doubt yourself...you fought him as hard as you could! You never considered that he was bigger than you, or that he had you at a disadvantage...you fought him with no reservations..."_

Now, my tear filled eyes flick up involuntarily...

 _"No, I didn't..."_ I never wanted to admit this, but I can't allow him to believe that **lie**... _"...in those first few seconds, when his hands first touched me, I could have screamed the place down...I **should** have screamed the place down...but I didn't...I just stood there..."_

I pull away from him, as my admission seems to suck all the air out of my lungs, quickly switching my attention back to the food that is now almost ready...moving the plate of burger toppings over to the counter top, grabbing condiments so that nothing is forgotten, for when the food is cooked...

He lightly grasps my hand as I begin to search out the knife to cut the bread rolls...

_"Stop! For a second...just stop!"_

He is very gentle, not restricting me in any way, just trying to get my full attention, but yet I can't help wriggling out of his featherlike hold...

 _"I don't want the food to spoil..."_ I try to tell him... so he quickly checks that there is another minute or two on everything...

_"It's all ok for a couple more minutes...Please?...Look at me!"_

I take a deep breath, planting my feet and readying myself for the barrage...

_"You can't feel guilty for any of it! You say you just stood there...that was shock! I don't think, no matter how much you know you are in danger, that you can ever be ready to be put in that position...Even just hearing you say it now, it took my brain time to really catch up with the words! And what you felt, in that moment, to be seconds, was probably only a portion of that time...Don't ever doubt that you fought with everything you had! And don't question that you somehow invited it, by wondering if you should wait and see if **he** really meant you harm...you knew how dangerous **he** was, but people like me didn't, we didn't think **he** would be stupid enough to ever go near you again, we believed that **he** had learned his lesson...and it was our uncertainty that made you question yourself! And even if you had made a decision to trust that what had happened before was in the past, even if you were comfortable to work around **him** , which you were not! **He** is the one who chose to hurt you... **He** is the one who pushed you to the ground... **He** is the one who caused the cuts and bruises... **He** is the one who held you down...and raped you..."_

The dreaded word, even though it is a timid whisper, causes me to gasp.

We stand face to face, looking anywhere but at each other, as the word seems to reverberate in the silence...

When I turn back to the cooker, I can see his slight grimace...he thinks he has pushed too far...

 _"I don't...It's not how it feels...I don't know how to change it..."_ I mutter, as I set about lifting the fries to drain.

I heap blue cheese onto his burger, and my mushroom; to melt in the last moments of cooking.

_"I hate that I feel like this...I know there is nothing anyone can do that makes it ok for someone to ... **do that**..."_

He seems to understand that I need to keep busy as I expel these thoughts, so he just stands aside as I finish our dinner.

_"I have so many doubts, so many niggling queries...so many what-ifs...I'm terrified, that at trial, they will all be picked up on, and it will be my own fault if he is found not guilty. That I will go through all of it and... "_

He shakes his head slightly, the gesture betraying his frustration and fear at this possibility, his voice merely a whisper; _"The system doesn't seem fair...and as much as I hate it, it is possible that he may get off! But you need to understand that it wouldn't be your fault!"_

As I plate up the food, I'm not sure I want to eat it anymore, but my traitorous mouth waters in anticipation...

_"I think stuff like this is what Barba meant...that I need to say it...I'm not sure how to go about changing it though..."_

He takes the plate I shove at him, loading it up with ketchup and salt for the fries, and putting salad leaves, tomato and mustard onto his burger, as he considers my words.

_"I think maybe, you go about changing them, by admitting them...by saying the words..."_

As I squeeze mayo onto my own fries, and put salad leaves and onions onto my burger, I just nod gently.

_"I guess change happens slowly..."_


	18. Waiting

I'm so nervous, I'm not sure I can even keep down the two mouthfuls of toast I forced myself to eat, when I finally gave up on sleep... My stomach is roiling violently...every breath is a battle...

It doesn't seem possible that the dread filled date is actually here...there are so many things I still need to get my head around, so much I'm not ready for...

I desperately try to concentrate on my surroundings, hoping I can find some escape in them, even if it is only temporary...

It's not warm in here...it's as though the tiled floors and high ceilings make it impossible for the meager rays of natural sunlight that slip in through the small, high windows, to ever truly affect the temperature. The coolness might be something that would be welcome on a sticky summer day, but now, as the autumn cedes to winter, the cool becomes a chill.

Despite the temperature in here, I find I'm sweating. I can feel a bead of sweat slipping down my lower back, and the barest moisture beginning to gather on my hairline. When my hand wipes across my forehead, I feel clammy...

I fidget with my clothes...the open necked blouse, and unbuttoned jacket are way too loose to be the cause of the restricted feeling around my throat, but it's all I can think of to do, to try and relieve myself...

I run my hands down the trousers that feel like they are digging in at my waist... Maybe there was a time that they may have had the ability to pinch a little, but now they hang loosely on my waist when I stand up...It's all in my head...

For what feels like the millionth time, my eyes are drawn to the clock...

It hasn't been long since Mr. Barba was here beside me, giving me a final pep talk; only 45 minutes...but it feels like a lifetime...

He had seemed surprised to find me sitting on the bench outside, on my own.

 _"You know the crisis centers are happy to provide an escort service?"_ he asked gently, when I confirmed I wasn't expecting a friend or family member, someone who was just running late...

His brow furrowed as I tried to tell him I was fine on my own...but something about me, must have made it clear that I didn't want to discuss it further...

_"Ok...Remember everything we practiced! Address your answers to me, and to the jury, when you feel you can...You have nothing to be ashamed of! Don't forget what we said about language...and try not to omit detail because it's uncomfortable!"_

I knew he was, very carefully, referring to so many of the times I baulked when he asked certain questions in prep...when I chose words to describe what happened, that minimized what I experienced; or when I couldn't adequately describe my physical injuries, because I was too embarrassed by terms I haven't used since biology lessons in school...

_"Speak clearly, try not to whisper...but don't be afraid to show the court that it is difficult, that you are affected by testifying...No one expects you to be a robot! You can take a sip of water if you need a second...to collect yourself..."_

As we prepped, he began to see that when it was all getting on top of me, I would search for something else to focus my attention on. He tried to get me into the habit of taking a sip from the water glass he made sure was always in front of me, so I wouldn't fidget with my clothes; he explained that it may not be understood by jurors, it could be misinterpreted as a sign of dishonesty...and he tried to stop me from searching the room with my eyes instead, deliberately not reminding me what my gaze was liable to get stuck on in the courtroom...

I nodded tightly at the lawyer, grateful for the final reminder, fighting the feeling that all the things he had repeatedly drilled into me, in those many prep sessions, are completely gone from my memory.

But he seemed to know what I was thinking; _"You haven't forgotten it all, it's just nerves...that's why we went over it so many times, so you don't have to think about it now!"_

He tried not to make it obvious to me, as his eyes quickly took in my appearance.

He had told me that it was an unfortunate reality, that in the courtroom, there is a certain dress code that people expect a survivor to adhere to...conservative, simple, businesslike attire; a skirt and jacket, or pants and a jacket...not jeans; a shirt rather than a top, and not too low cut...if I chose to wear a skirt he and the lieutenant had suggested knee length, rather than shorter... Both had nodded when I described this style as 'interview clothes...'

I know I am dressed appropriately, but in some ways, it only adds to my discomfort...it is yet another way, that I don't feel like myself...

He met my eyes once again, speaking very softly, wanting me to **really** hear his assurances...

_"You have the truth on your side, and you are ready...you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear...he won't be able to speak to you, or approach you...you are safe..."_

This soft reminder that **he** will be there, that I will once more, be in his presence, only increased my nerves, and forced me to swallow deeply...

 _"It's ok..."_ he whispered as he gently patted my hand, _"I'll be in there too...and I'm there for you...! Are you sure I can't call someone for you?"_

I just shook my head again...

 _"Lieutenant Benson will be here soon..."_ he told me, as if he was worried that he wasn't doing enough for me... _"You will be my first witness, I want you to be the first person the jury hears from, yours to be the voice that first tells your story...there's only opening statements before you, so you shouldn't be waiting too long..."_

Again, a nod was all the response I could give him...

_"It's normal to be nervous, but you're going to do great!...Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?"_

I just held up the bottle of water I was clutching, by means of an answer, trying to convey that I had a drink, I was fine...

I could sense his hesitancy to leave me, as his hand scrubbed across his face.

 _"I'm ok...just nervous..."_ I muttered, hoping it was more convincing to his ears... _"Thank you for fighting for me..."_

I wanted to say it **before**...because I mean it, I'm not sure I would ever have gotten to this point without his help, without him and Olivia...and regardless of everything else I want him to know that his support has meant a lot to me...

I'm not sure that my seemingly unexpected, words made it any easier for him to leave; when he got to his feet, picking up his briefcase and folders, he still looked reluctant to leave me sitting there...and I tired not to watch him walk into the court room...

But that was almost an hour ago, and it feels that with every minute that has passed, I've lost more of the slight bump in confidence, that his last minute pep talk gave me...

I'm simultaneously wishing for the door to open, for the court officer to call me, to get it over with...and at the same time, hoping that the door stays firmly shut...

The corridor suddenly feels very lonely, as I debate a last minute bathroom break... I abruptly realize that there is no one here if I leave...and I have no idea what happens if the court officer were to choose that moment to call me? Would I miss my chance? Would they think I had changed my mind? Would they assume I had just run away, as I have been threatening to do at every point during this process?

Just allowing that thought in, feels like it may be too much of a temptation...

Maybe it would be better?...to just run?...to escape it all?...

But as my stomach somersaults again, the truth becomes clear; escaping testifying doesn't change what happened...it only means there is no hope of any justice...

My legs are shaking, I'm not sure they would be capable of carrying me away, even if it were, what I wanted...

Which only reminds me, that those same legs will very soon, have to carry me into the courtroom...and through whoever fills the seats of the gallery...as I try not to allow the stares that will no doubt follow me, from spectators and jurors, who will be making their first appraisals of me, to rattle my confidence even further...I want to make the best first impression I can, I don't want anything to corrupt their view of me...

Never before, has a simple walk taken on so much importance...

I pull my phone out of my bag, turning the camera, so I can check the very light make up I applied, with shaking hands, before I left this morning...it is very natural, no bright lip or heavy eye makeup...just as Olivia suggested...

It seems ridiculous that so much should hinge on how I look...but I guess I can understand that a jury is only a group of people like me, they are probably inexperienced themselves, and nervous of the duty they have to fulfill...they are expected to make a decision, based only on 'facts' as presented to them. Then they are expected to pass judgment, without the benefit of any training...to change someone's life...

I can't help but wonder, if any of the jury, may have their own experiences of what they are being asked to evaluate today...?

Is there someone on that panel of my peers, who is currently trying to shove down their own memories?

I wish I had thought to ask Mr. Barba about this...my guess is that the defense would surely not want a juror who had brought a similar case of his or her own? And surely the prosecution wouldn't want to empanel a juror who had once been the accused? Neither side wanting someone on the jury to be able to empathize too closely with their opposition's position...

A chill strikes me unexpectedly, as I realize that it is much more likely that there is no legal record of the nightmares a juror may be struggling to hold at bay...

I attempt to put myself in that position...in a few months time, even a few years time; sitting in judgment of a case similar to mine...I don't know how I could distance myself from a woman describing an assault, without my own memories being dragged back up...

Could I inadvertently, tell a survivor I didn't believe her, by finding her alleged assailant not guilty?

Could I allow a potentially, innocent man, to have the course of his life decided, based on my worry of what damage a 'not guilty' verdict could do, to the alleged victim?

Could I live with the worry of allowing a guilty man, to go free, or an innocent man, to be judged guilty?

I know that jury duty is something, almost universally hated, and dreaded...something that you are forced to undertake, should you be unlucky enough to be selected...

I have a mental image of bored people, doodling on the provided notepads, idly considering their holiday plans, what they will do that weekend, or even what they will eat for dinner as they struggle not to yawn again...I wonder is that boredom lessened in a case such as this, or if it is not your life hanging in the balance, and you have no personal experience, is it just something keeping you from all the other things you would rather be doing?

If it were possible, this train of thought has only increased my nervousness...

The resulting queasiness has me draw my feet up, until my chin rests on my knees.

I begin to regret my numerous demands to John; that he goes to work as usual, that he just allow me to do this...

Maybe I was worried he would be a distraction; that he would try too hard to make me feel better...or that he would see even more of my weakness?

Maybe I felt it was something I needed to do alone?

Barba had also been very clear, that the jury shouldn't be made to worry that we colluded in our statements...he never told us not to see each other, I think he understands how important his support is to me...but he made it very clear we were not allowed to discuss our testimony, and shouldn't talk about the trial at all. He suggested that perhaps, it may be better for the case, were we to not be seen as very close colleagues in the courtroom setting... Is that maybe another reason why I refused to allow John's presence here beside me?

I retrieve my phone again; wanting to reread the last message he sent me, just before Barba made his way over to me...desperate for anything that may build up my rapidly waning nerve...

_[You're going to do great! You are telling the truth, never lose sight of that! I'll be thinking of you...and I'll see you later for dinner!...]_

I quickly wipe it from the screen, trying to ignore the last typed words; still unable to stomach them...They feel so out of place, almost like the Universe's final joke on me...

I know that as the day progresses, he won't be the only one to utter them, but for now, I'm going to try and ignore the reality...

My legs are starting to feel slightly numb from sitting, almost unmoving, on this hard bench...and the chill of the building that bothered me not so long ago, becomes something I am grateful for...as fear makes my body sweat...

The lack of natural light, is also something that is starting to feel right...this place, feels like it should be slightly removed from everyday life, from the natural world. It seems that the place where things like this are adjudicated, should be as unnatural, as the acts being discussed...

But as the minutes continue to tick by, this sitting here, anticipating, seems to get more difficult...

This waiting is torture...

Maybe the waiting is the hardest part?

There has already been so much waiting for this case...it feels like I have consistently been waiting...waiting for a doctor in the hospital...waiting to go home...waiting for the test results from the examination, I only recently got the final results...it took the results arriving, for me to realize how difficult the wait really was, it was only when the envelope was opened, with John's help, that the relief of being HIV negative really hit home...He once again, held my sobbing form for what felt like hours...

I've waited so many months for this trial...this hour long wait is nothing...just another agony to just be suffered...

Maybe the wait is the worst part?

But as I consider what awaits me on the other side of the door...that idea is immediately quashed! No, waiting is the easy part...no matter how difficult it may seem now...

What is to come will be worse, much worse...

Another wave of fear, and nausea, flutters through me.

I had thought, that first trip to Mr. Barba's office, had been frightening; I had thought, that first day going back to work, had been petrifying...but that had only been a taste of the chilling, horrifying, terror that fills every last part of me now...

I can't help but wonder did **he** awaken this morning gripped by fear?

Were **his** bed sheets sweat dampened, from nightmares that wouldn't stop, even when sleep was no longer possible?

Is **he** afraid of the verdict? Or does **he** feel so untouchable, that he has complete confidence, that he will once again, escape all consequences of his actions?

I'm a mess of conflicting emotions...as I pull my phone out again, to see if my exterior is mirroring the tumult I feel inside; still very conscious of that first impression, as I walk into the court room...

The make up doesn't completely hide the sleeplessness that I have become used to, my face is paler than I should be, but for now, I still look ok...

The phone vibrates softly before I can put it away...

I switched it to silent before taking a seat on this bench, but when it is still in my hand, I find I can't ignore the notification...

_[Hope you have a great day...]_

I barely swallow back the tears that threaten to burst forward, at yet another reminder...locking the screen before I have to read anymore...

I had tried so hard, not to allow this coincidence, to serve as some reason to back out...I hadn't even told Barba or Olivia...it seemed too insignificant to even put voice to...but the previous meaning of this date, to me, seems to only amplify everything I'm feeling...

There was never a doubt that this would be a date I would remember forever more; the day my trial started, that I testified...was always going to be a day that would never be forgotten, even as the years tick by...it just seems so unfair that it was a date that already had a significance in my personal calendar...

I begin to regret not telling people what I would be doing today...maybe then, I wouldn't have the phone taunting me with reminders...but I didn't want people to know, much as I didn't want them to know what had led me to this point...

The huge wooden door opens without warning...pulling me from my thoughts...and a uniformed man calls my name, looking expectantly at me...

A chill of primitive, fear, strikes my body, as I nod...

It's too late now...

I struggle to my wobbly legs...trying to control my breathing...

I take a last deep breath, and pull my body upright, _"Stand tall and just look straight in front..."_ I silently remind myself, as I stumble slightly, on my first steps toward my fate...

 _"Yeah, happy birthday to me..."_ I mumble mockingly, trying to hold back the tears already...


	19. Testifying

I take a last deep breath, and pull my body upright, _"Stand tall and just look straight in front..."_ I silently remind myself, as I stumble slightly, on my first step toward my fate...

 _"Yeah, happy birthday to me..."_ I mumble mockingly, trying to hold back the tears already...

All the years of pretending I was fine, pretending that I wasn't haunted by what had happened to me... **finally** , start to stand to me...as I force one foot in front of the other...maybe talking to John, and all the hours at group, over the last months, have played their part in allowing me to walk into that room...I manage to wipe all the doubts, all the questions from my mind, as I step through the large wooden doors...the only thing I can't push away is the fear...

I consciously push my shoulders back, locking my gaze onto the witness stand at the front of the room. All the years of painstakingly perfected, laser focus, the only thing I could find that allowed me to distance myself from the tumult inside me, is put to the test as I stride towards my goal, not allowing the sea of eyes I can feel boring into me, to penetrate my consciousness.

There is no one in this room for me...Olivia and John are both on the witness list for the case, so can't be present. Maybe I'm even glad of that fact...there is no one here to let down...John has apologized, so many times, for not being able to be here to support me, but despite all the talking we have done, there is still so much that I cannot bear to say to him...so many secrets I don't want him to ever find out, so many details still shrouded in silence...I don't allow myself to even consider Olivia's absence...I thought she would be in that hallway...maybe she doesn't believe me after all?

The well-dressed lawyer tries to catch my eye as I pass him, I try not to allow the thought in, that I could still disappoint this man...I don't allow anything to distract me from my goal...but by the time I reach the stand, the two small steps are almost too much...I stumble, grasping for the low railing that now surrounds me, to steady myself. I barely notice that both hands are now clasping tightly to the wood in front of me, as I reluctantly turn to face the room.

A court officer stands before me, holding out a book, asking me to raise one hand and place the other on the offered tome...but my hands refuse to relinquish the safety of the solid railing they cling to...

 _"We just need to swear you in..."_ the uniformed man whispers softly, seemingly not immune to sympathy, at how terrified I am by such a tiny movement...

I somehow force my hands to release their death grip, and comply, but my promise to _'tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God...'_ is evidenced more in the tight nod of my head, rather than the croak that escapes my throat...but thankfully it is enough for the man who tells me to take a seat, and I barely control falling into the chair behind me.

I'm shaking. My whole body is trembling...I'm not sure I can do this...there's an emptiness inside me, not just in my rumbling stomach, but like an integral part of me is missing...like an organ I rely on is gone... It's not just the fear anymore, something is really missing...some part of who I am...who I **was**...is gone...

In my panic, I do the one thing that Barba had tried to persuade me not to do...I search the room for some help...but what my eyes land on, is the very antithesis of helpful...

 **His** eyes are on me...

My body refuses to even take a breath, as I look at the man who caused me to have to come here today...the man who **took** whatever piece of me, that is missing, ...

But biology takes over, the resilience of my body, much greater than that of my mind, forcing my lungs to expand, my throat to open, my mouth to pull in the oxygen it needs...

How does **he** not look as threatening, sitting there behind the table, with his lawyer, as he did when he was forcing me to the ground all those months ago?

Maybe it is the size of the lawyer sitting beside him, but **he** doesn't look as big...?

The shaved head that made him look even more terrifying, is softened by short hair, the far receded hairline that was hidden when it was shaved, now makes him look a lot more innocuous, more like an ageing dad than a monster...

The suit he is wearing, in stark contrast to his usual attire, even further softens his appearance...

How are people going to believe the man sitting before them, is the monster I'm describing?

He looks like a respectable guy...a family man...someone you would ask to help you in a petrol station forecourt, or a grocery store car park,...not someone you would lock the doors of your car on seeing, not someone you would dally in the entrance of a store to avoid crossing paths with, or cross the street with that jolt of fear twisting in your gut, to sidestep...

It seems even stupider of me now, to be putting myself through all this...I physically deflate as my gaze stays locked on the man I have only been able to imagine as a looming, evil, monster...

As my body stoops, there is a hint, in the smirk that crosses his lips, and the glint in his eye, that tells me he knows what he is doing to me...and for a fleeting second, the coldness in his unmoving eyes, is proof that he **is** that monster I've been having nightmares about...he isn't the harmless man he is so meticulously disguised as...

I've almost, totally, forgotten where I am, so it comes as a surprise when Mr. Barba steps in front of me.

He is very casual, as he moves in between me, and the man who holds every part of my attention...

 _"Good Morning..."_ he says, more for the benefit of the observers than for me _..."Thank you for being here. I can only imagine how hard this is for you, so I want you to let me know if, at any point, you need a moment...?"_

He is looking at me very warily, as he says this, trying to evaluate the damage already done...

I just nod, trying to pull myself back, reminding myself of all the prep sessions...trying to shake off the effect of coming face to face, once more, with the cause of so many nightmares...

Barba, confident that he now has my attention, lowers his eyes to the glass of water in front of me...silently reminding me of the coping strategy...

I reach for the glass, sipping slowly...imagining the cold water rinsing all the gnawing doubt away, as I swallow...

_"Can you tell me why you are here this morning?"_

His question, surprises me...it's not that he hasn't asked it before, it's just I didn't think he planned to open with it...it is one of the hardest questions, the one I have continuously struggled with...but when I look at him, I only see his confidence in me, reflected back...

_"Because...I was hurt...a man I worked with...took advantage of the fact that I was alone, and forced me to the ground...and...raped me..."_

It was nowhere near as eloquent as we had practiced...it was stuttering, slightly disjointed, and the pain I feel, in uttering the words, is clear...but it is the truth...it is why I am here...

The lawyer is happy with my answer, I can tell, as he moves towards the jury, carefully, taking my gaze with him...

_"The man who hurt you, who raped you, is he in the courtroom?"_

This is something I feel oddly prepared for...

 _"He is"_ I say pointing to the table to my right, to **him**... _"Dave... **David** Smith...is the man who...raped me..."_

The words don't sit easily in my mouth. I've slowly begun to use them, while prepping with Barba...but they don't feel natural...I've only used **that** word once personally...

While talking about the case with John, he had very cautiously asked, if I would be able to use the word I was so careful to find endless euphemisms for, when we spoke...It very nearly turned into an argument. I felt defensive, like he was pushing me too hard...and I wasn't slow about telling him this...

I'll never forget his soft answer to me lashing out _..."I know you do...and I'm sorry...I don't mean to push...or make you feel defensive...and I know I don't understand...I can't...not really..."_

His words were accompanied by a sadness that disarmed me.

I found that I wanted to explain to him, not that I felt I had to...I **wanted** to...

 _"I know it's only a word...it doesn't change anything, whether I say it or not...but it's hard to say...I can't deny it's what happened, I tried!...but I see it happen, in my head...feel it happen..."_ I said, trying to find words to explain...

He looked at me gently, never averting his eyes; not when tears slipped down my cheeks, not even when a few errant tears of his own, joined mine...he just reached for my hand, allowing me to say what I wanted, **needed** , to say...

 _"It's just four short letters, a syllable...you can look it up in a dictionary...it isn't **my** word...it doesn't describe what happened to **me**...he raped me..."_ I told him reluctantly, my shoulders shrugging helplessly _..."...but it was so much more than that too...rape only describes one of the actions that hurt me so badly...it's too neat, for something that was so messy...it doesn't say what I need it to say..."_

He seemed to understand **then**...he could see what the word meant to me...and he recognized that the absence of the word in our conversations was maybe actually a good thing, because when I spoke to him I didn't try to hide behind a word I felt was a catchall... I tried to find something that felt like it described what really happened to me... but he was never shy to remind me that the word I hated so much, also had a legal meaning, and carried a certain weight in the courtroom. That although, it didn't adequately describe my personal experience, it needed to be used...and when Barba sent me away to consider an answer to a question, and I used John as a sounding board, he was always careful not to react overtly, to the word...

Barba is careful to pull my attention back to him quickly, once I have identified my monster, as he needed me to...

_"Can you tell us, what happened?"_

It's the first time that I start to look at the people who have the power to decide my fate...they're a mix, men and women, all ages...an everyday mix of people you would find in any daily situation...but this is no everyday situation...

 _"I was at work..."_ I start to explain, giving a brief explanation of my job as Barba had suggested... _"We were well into the build, and had already placed a lot of empty cases or, as yet, unneeded equipment into the area designated for storage...but I had technical difficulties with a piece of equipment, I knew we had a spare...so I went to storage to get the spare..."_

Barba softly interrupts to ask _..."Can you describe the storage area a little? How far away it was?"_

_"It was literally the next room, it is often used for a larger event, together with the room we were in...I only had to take a few steps in a hallway...the lights were on, it wasn't dark or isolated, and we had been taking equipment from there, returning empty boxes, all morning, so as not to block up the room we were working in... it was a journey I had made countless times already that day..."_

Some of the jury members are starting to look down, trying to break eye contact, in anticipation of what comes next...

_"I was searching through the boxes, looking for the correct spare...when Dave appeared...I didn't see him enter the room, he was just, suddenly, beside me...I took a couple of steps back, to distance myself...but he moved towards me...the wall was right behind me, and when I looked around, for somewhere else to move to...he shoved me up against the wall...he is a lot bigger than me, and taller..."_

There is a certain amount of comfort in the familiarity of the words leaving my lips...none of it is too emotional...even though this was the precursor to what happened, the beginning of the experience I will never be able to forget...up until this point, it is relatively easy to describe, and allowed me to regain a little of the confidence that deserted me as I found my way to the stand...I wonder was this all some clever calculation by the man who positions himself at the end of the jury box?...

I half expect the lawyer to interrupt, to ask why **his** appearance had caused me to move away, to ask what I was feeling as I was pushed up against the wall, as he has so many times during prep...but he doesn't...

A moment of silence passes; this is where the story starts to get difficult...

I look more carefully at the men and women in the box before me, a couple are looking between me and the defense, as though they are trying to confirm the size differential, some are looking straight at me, some are looking to Barba as if they, like me, are awaiting a question...

 _"And then what happened?"_ he prompts me gently...

I'm a little panicked. He usually breaks this soliloquy, into more manageable bites for me, directing it with questions, painting the story into context with some of the history of why **he** scared me so much...but now he seems to want me to tell my story, almost, uninterrupted...

I take a deep breath...a quick sip of water...

 _"He pushed me up against the wall using his arm..."_ I say, gesturing to my forearm, holding it out with my elbow at a right angle, to mirror the action...

_"And when I hit the wall, he moved his arms either side of me, caging me...his body was so close..."_

The memories I've been trying so hard to hold at bay, are starting to flood my mind...

 _"He started saying..... **things**...telling me how he could do anything he wanted to, and I couldn't stop him...I tried to push him away...but he pressed his body against mine...the wall was behind me, I couldn't get away..."_ I start to say, forgetting that Barba had told me not to take on any responsibility, not to imply there was more I could have done...

My breathing gets faster, as the memories envelop me...

_"I could feel **him**...pressing into me...he was getting hard...as I was trying to get away!?... he pushed himself harder against me...I think I sobbed, and he laughed at me..."_

I promised myself I'd keep the tears at bay, but the emotions these words bring up, don't allow me to hold them back anymore...

I take another sip from the glass, chancing a quick glance at the jury...there are some furrowed brows, some downcast eyes, and some expressions I can't read...

Barba steps closer to me, _"He laughed?"_ he prompts once more...

I nod slightly, my eyes locking onto the glass I have just put down...

_"I started to fight harder...telling him no!...but he just sort of tripped me, knocked me off my feet...forcing me down to the ground, with him on top of me...my head slammed off the concrete..."_

The tears have sped up, and my hand unconsciously goes to the back of my head, trying to soothe the remembered pain...

_"He was so heavy...I couldn't move him, I tried to...but I couldn't...I was hitting him, pushing at him, so he grabbed my hands...he was able to hold them both in one of his...and he started pulling at my clothes...he shoved up my shirt, ripping my bra...but I was still trying to get away, still trying to ask him to stop...wriggling...trying to buck him off me...but it was exciting him even more, I could feel his erection...it must have been annoying him too though, cos he slammed me down again...my head smashed off the ground again..."_

I'm sobbing now, fully caught in the remembrance...almost reliving it all...and I don't see the tension in Barba's shoulders as he awaits an objection from the defense table...

After a few seconds, there is still no sound from the other side of the room, and Barba is right in front of me, his head ducked down trying to meet my eye, passing me a box of tissues...

 _"Do you need a moment?"_ he asks softly, as I still my hands.

For a moment I consider it, but as I see the look on so many of the jurors faces, I know I need to keep going...so I reluctantly shake my head...

 _"And what happened then?"_ he asks with the barest nod...

_"He started...touching me...my flesh..."_

Somehow I manage to remember all that Barba drilled into me, how important it is, **not** to hide from the details, **not** to try to be delicate or shy...

_"...my breasts...squeezing them...hurting me...then he went for my jeans...pulling them open...breaking the zipper...he tried to shove his hand into them...he ripped the jeans, below the fastenings...then he slammed me down again, my head hit the concrete...”_

_"How did he slam you down?"_ Barba asks...

_"He lifted some of his weight off my chest...grabbed the shirt balled up at my neck...and lifted me up off the ground, just enough, to slam me down again..."_

The lawyer nods tightly at this clarification...

_"He shoved my jeans all the way down...when they were around my ankles, it felt like they were helping me...keeping my legs closed, stopping him...he was using his foot to try and push them over my shoes...the end of the leg was too tight, it wouldn't go over the shoes...but then, he shoved them until they started to turn inside out...the end was still trapped on me, by my shoes, but it was harder to hold my legs together..."_

It seems like stupid things to remember, but Barba had assured me that these details were important...even when I asked him did it not make it seem unrealistic that I couldn't remember other details, he promised that it was perfectly normal that some things were less clear, hazy...

_"...Somehow he got his own pants open...I could feel his...penis...digging into my hip..."_

The memory is starting to make me feel sick...I can feel bile pushing its way up my throat...I sip at the water, trying to calm my stomach...

_"...I held my legs closed, as tight as I could...but he just laughed as he jammed his knee in between mine...forcing them...I was saying no!...crying...shouting for help...so he let my hands go and put his hand around my neck...and banged my head off the ground again...he ripped my underwear...and forced his hips between my legs...he was hurting me, forcing my legs too wide... he kept putting his weight on me...I thought he was going to crush me...I was clawing at him trying to stop him...he told me he was taking what he wanted...and I couldn't do anything to stop him..."_

I know any pretense at eloquence is long forgotten; the sentences are disjointed, only long enough to fit between the panting sobs...

I want more than anything to stop, but I can't...I have to continue...so I try to get it over as quick as possible...I'm a sobbing mess...all worries about my appearance are also disregarded, it is all I can do, to force out the words...

_"He held his hand around my neck...and... forced **himself**...his penis...inside me...it hurt so much...he was rough...every time he pulled himself out...he seemed to try to push back into me, harder...laughing and pulling me back to him, when my body was pushed away...he kept telling me 'I was going nowhere...'"_

I'm gasping noisily, as I finally get it over with...unable to raise my eyes from the glass before me...but I'm sure I can hear some soft sighs, gulps...maybe a groan...

Barba allows a moment of silence for my words to hang...before he moves towards his desk, grasping a file...

_"Your Honor, I'd like to refer the jury to the hospital records from the witness' subsequent examination..."_

I can only assume that the judge had no objection, because Barba starts to list my injuries...

I try not to listen...only now realizing that the defense never objected once, during my testimony...and my stomach flutters in terror...Barba had prepared me for objections, he must have expected them, he told me they could try to interrupt, just to break the flow of my account...

 _"Can you tell us what this picture shows?"_ Barba pulls my attention to the TV screen I hadn't even seen until now...

 _"They're the grazes I had on my back..."_ I whisper so softly that he has to ask me to repeat my answer...

 _"Were they only on your back?"_ he asks flicking through the papers in his hand...

I shake my head, adding _"No"_ as an afterthought...

 _"They were on the back of your arms, your legs and your buttocks as well as your back?"_ he questions...

Again I nod, before remembering he needs an answer _"Yes"_

_"How did you get those particular grazes?"_

I swallow, at the thought of explaining them...but before I can, the defense finally objects...

_"Objection! Your honor! The witness is not a medical professional"_

The judge sustains the objection. So Barba moves on, rephrasing the question, so I have to tell him that they were friction burns; from my body rubbing against the concrete...Despite all our rehearsal, I can't look anyone in the eye as I admit this...all too aware of the image of me, playing in everyone's head...

He continues to direct the court's attention to the screen, showing the pictures taken of my injuries in the hospital...asking questions about the pain they caused, or how long they took to heal, even referring to wounds _'too intimate'_ to be displayed in open court...until the defense again, object...the judge suggests that the doctor on the witness list would be better to address these queries to...but I know from our prep, that he has achieved his objective; he wanted the jury to equate my narrative with the injuries shown, to picture the raw, untreated, cuts, the fresh, bruising happening...he wants the jury to be in no doubt of the damage done to me...

Barba takes a moment to return to his desk, leaving the drawing that marks the position of all my injuries, with little circles and 'x's' on the outline of a body, up on the screen while he gathers papers...until the defense once more objects...

When he turns back to me, he holds the copy of the investigation report I gave him the first time I met him, in my apartment.

_"Can you tell us what this is?"_

This is something I've been dreading, almost more than detailing what happened...

_"It's a copy of the investigation report into allegations I made against Dave Smith years ago..."_

_"Can you explain that better?"_ he asks...

_"We worked together, and his behavior towards me, became a problem over time...so I went to management for help in dealing with it...an investigation, and that report, were the result..."_

Despite him rehearsing these questions with me, and being very careful to tell me what I can and can't say, these questions are terrifying...

_"So it would be fair to say that you were already very wary of Mr. Smith from past interactions...?"_

_"Yes, I felt threatened by him, and would try not to be left alone in his presence..."_

_"So it was unusual for you to be alone with him? How did you find yourself alone with Mr. Smith that day?"_

_"Since that investigation...I was never alone with him. I didn't know he was on-site that day..."_

I try to control my feelings as Barba peppers me with these questions. I know he is trying to help, but as he predicted, I feel like he is not really on my side...as he continues to pelt me with queries, it feels like he has reservations about my entire testimony...like he is questioning, that any of it ever happened...

_"Would you have done anything differently, if you had known Mr. Smith was on site that day?"_

I nod, trying to swallow down the sob, his words brings up...

_"Any time I have known he is on site, I have been very careful to stay in the main work area...in public sight at all times...Had I known he was there, I would never have gone to the storage area alone...I would have gotten someone else to get me the piece of equipment I needed..."_

_"Why? Were you in the habit of using your colleagues as a buffer zone?"_

I try not to allow his words to hurt, I know he is trying to ask these questions so the defense can't twist the facts into something else...but I can't help the tears that slip out...I'm exhausted, and every new, prying, demand makes me doubt myself that little bit more...

_"I never wanted to put myself in a dangerous situation again...but I never expected my colleagues to automatically believe my version of events...I knew that they all experienced a different version of **him** , than I did...and I didn't want to make them uncomfortable around me...but I didn't feel I was being unreasonable, asking them to help keep us apart...I felt it was in both our interests, mine and Mr. Smith's...I didn't ask them to pass judgment...Whether people believed me or him, or even something in the middle where that investigation was concerned, surely whether it was protecting me from him, or him from me...it was sensible to just not leave us together..."_

I'm aware, as the last words tumble out, I sound broken...there is no strong emotion in them, other than pain...no bitterness...only hurt...

Barba seems to consider my words, nodding gently...

This was something, he always told me, he needed to let the jury hear...he felt it would do a lot to undermine the defense's claim of revenge...even though it felt like even more proof of my stupidity, to me...

I can't even brace myself for the next question...I can't begin to imagine what he can grill me on next...

 _"You described a horrible assault...how did it end?"_ he asks very softly...

 _"One of my colleagues...interrupted it...he entered the storage area and pulled him off me...knocked him off me..."_ I correct quickly...

_"What happened then?"_

_"I wanted to leave, to just get away...John, my colleague...brought me to the hospital...and called the police..."_

_"Thank you very much"_ he says very gently, giving me a small smile, as he goes to take the seat behind his desk that has thus far remained empty...

The fear that has never left me, has never been more in evidence that when he retakes his seat...I can't help a quick glance at the lawyer sitting beside **him**. I'm not sure if I'm relieved he has said little so far...or if it bodes badly...

 _"I have no more questions for this witness, your Honor"_ Barba announces confidently...

The judge glances at her watch, seemingly weighing up a decision...

_"We will break for lunch at this juncture...Court is adjourned until 2pm..."_

As she bangs her gavel, I can't help but jump...I stay sitting in the stand, unable to believe that it could possibly be time for lunch already...

As people begin to file out, Barba makes his way up to me...

_"You did really well!"_

As tears still stain my face, and my body is hunched over, it doesn't feel that way...

 _"Really!"_ he repeats softly, as I carefully pick my way down off the stand...

As he walks back towards his desk with me, we see Olivia striding in...

 _"She did really well...very clear...held the jury the whole way through..."_ he summarizes to her, as soon as she is close enough... _"Buchanan will start cross after lunch..."_

Olivia pats me gently on the shoulder..." _Well done! I know it hasn't been easy, but be very proud of yourself! And don't forget that you only have to tell the truth...Barba will be here to try and stop Buchanan from going too far...I'm sorry I can't be in here for you too..."_

I can only nod tightly...the worst is still to come...

_"And I'm very sorry I wasn't here for you this morning...before you came in here..."_

I try to brush off her apology, not even wanting to admit to myself, how much I had wanted her to appear, when the interminable wait was getting too much for me...

 _"No!"_ she says softly, _"Don't brush off my apology! It was important for me to be here! I wanted to be here for you! I didn't want you to think, not for one second, that you were forgotten, or that I didn't care..."_

As I meet her eye, I nod gently...

_"I tried to get here...in time...but we got called out to the hospital this morning, for a new case...and I was needed...as was Fin...It wasn't that I prioritized something else over you...I just couldn't leave what I had started..."_

I can barely keep my tears away...

_"Thank you Olivia! I can't lie...I did miss you...the wait **was** horrendous! But I remember what it was like to be in the hospital...and how much **you** meant...I may not always feel it, but I'm a lot stronger now...that person, needed you more, this morning...and I wasn't alone...I had Mr. Barba..."_

She can see how much I mean my words, as she gently rubs my arm...silently reminding me that she is here now for me...

 _"Mr. Barba...?"_ I whisper as he starts to pile folders... _"What does it mean that he didn't object?"_

He turns his full attention back to me, as I start to mumble out my question...

A quick look passes between Olivia and Barba...

_"It can be a tactic, sometimes the defense don't want to seem like they are 'beating up' on the survivor...it doesn't tend to go down well with a lot of jurors...so Buchanan waits his turn instead of interrupting constantly...it's a risk for him, the power of allowing you to tell your story uninterrupted, versus, the jury disliking him for the constant objections that upset you..."_

This confirms what had been worrying me...the flurry of questioning has only been postponed...and the furrowed brow he flashes to Olivia, does little to relax me...

 _"Come and get some lunch with us?"_ Barba suggests softly...

 _"No! She already has lunch plans!"_ Olivia interjects quickly, to both our surprise... _"John is waiting outside the courthouse for you..."_ she says, giving Barba a look that can only be described as a warning...

Barba sighs softly..." _You can't discuss the case! And for gods sake, don't go across the street!"_ he mutters, shaking his head, as he starts to pack up his paperwork.

I nod gratefully at Olivia, as I start to walk out of the courtroom, trying not to focus on the fact that I will be returning here all too soon...


	20. Recess

_"John is waiting outside the courthouse for you..."_ Olivia says, giving Barba a look that can only be described as a warning...

Barba sighs softly _..."You can't discuss the case! And for gods sake, don't go across the street!"_ he mutters, shaking his head, as he starts to pack up his paperwork.

I nod gratefully at Olivia, as I start to walk out of the courtroom, trying not to focus on the fact that I will be returning here all too soon...

I put my head down and make my way out of the building as quick as I can...not wanting to meet the eye of anyone who has just heard me lay the details of my rape out for everyone...staying as close to the walls as I can, not wanting to find myself, inadvertently surrounded...

I'm very grateful that I don't have to worry about the press, gathered on the courthouse steps for a high profile murder trial going on somewhere else in the building...mine is just another rape case...not worthy of any attention...

When I reach the bottom of the steps, I see John walking towards me, and meet him in the middle...gratefully accepting the warm, tight, hug he greets me with.

 _"Lieutenant Benson suggested we not stand around the courthouse! And she recommended a sandwich place a block away?"_ he whispers into my ear...

I nod, and he lets me go, walking beside me, but not peppering me with the multitude of questions that he must be itching to ask...

_"I know we can't discuss the case...and the last thing you must want, is more questions, so I only have one thing to ask...Are you ok?"_

There are so many emotions, so many feelings, warring inside me, I can't even answer this simple query, but he doesn't push me...simply moving along, beside me, at the pace I set...

He recognizes the eatery Olivia had mentioned, and leads me in... suggesting a sandwich I might like, listing its ingredients for my appraisal, when I can only look at the menu in bewilderment, once the server asks to take my order...I gratefully echo his suggestion back to smiling girl...and nod in agreement, when he also asks for two coffees...

Our server accepts the debit card John hands her, and promises to bring our order down, telling us to take a seat...

John knows me too well now, heading for the empty corner table, gesturing me to the seat against the wall...

He pulls his seat around beside mine, before sitting down...still putting no pressure on me...he reaches for my hand tentatively, happily returning my tight grasp when I don't refuse the gesture...

I start to shake my head as the tears, once more, flow...

He seems to understand that this is the answer to his question...No, I'm not ok...but I haven't even got the words to say it...I can't even begin to describe how I feel...

The tears speed up, and I allow my head to drop onto his shoulder. He starts to release my hand to pull me into a hug, but when I cling even tighter to his hand, he just leans his head onto mine...

Even when the food arrives, I barely move...not really interested in eating...

He lifts his head and pulls my sandwich in front of me, pulling the large mug over too...

 _"I'm not going anywhere..."_ he punctuates the words with a squeeze to the hand he is still holding... _"...just try to eat ...even a little..."_

The words, though well meant, irritate me; I'm not a sick child who needs to be coaxed to eat!

But the man sitting beside me, holding my hand, is clearly worried sick...so I swallow down my irritation at his kindness...nodding softly, I raise my head from his shoulder, picking up my sandwich with my free hand...

We eat like that...side by side...our hands tightly clasped together...in silence...

It might sound odd...like it should be uncomfortable...but it isn't...it is exactly what I need...and I find that, as with earlier, the demands of my body outweigh everything, and I eat more than half of my sandwich, before pushing the plate away...

 _"Why aren't you at work?"_ I whisper finally...

 _"Cos I was useless...they suggested I leave, after the fourth time I walked away and couldn't remember what I was looking for..."_ he chuckles at the admission... " _I know you wanted to do this yourself...and you have...I can't go in...but there's no point in me going back to work..."_

I meet his eye...

 _"Can I wait for you outside the court room?"_ he asks softly...

The fact that he is asking, not demanding, or just telling me what he is doing...touches me deeply...

 _"Barba might have a fit!"_ I tell him _..."I think Olivia almost had to gag him, when he heard you were waiting for me for lunch..."_

He bites his lip guiltily...

 _"When I got to the courthouse, I went to sit outside the court room...and Olivia came over to speak to me...she was the one who told me to wait for you outside...and I told her I wanted to ask you could I wait after lunch..."_ he looks at me to see if I'm angry, but it means so much that he had even told

Olivia he wanted to ask me...there was never any intent to disregard my wishes...and to be honest I'm so grateful that I would know he is outside waiting for me, when I get back up onto the stand, I can't help even more tears...

 _"What did she say?"_ I whisper

_"She said it wouldn't be that unusual for a witness to be sitting waiting outside..."_

I nod gratefully _..."It's so much harder than I could ever have known...I don't want to be alone..."_

I can feel relief flood through him...

_"Although I'm glad you can't be in there...to hear it..."_

He seems to understand what I'm saying...as he squeezes my hand again...

 _"Can I ask you something?"_ I continue...

He nods, _"Always..."_

_"You are scheduled to testify tomorrow?"_

Another soft nod from him...and a little trepidation...

_"Can I be in there? Is it ok, if I'm there to listen?"_

It was never an option for him to be there to hear my testimony, and to be completely honest, I had never intended to ask him if I could be there to hear him testify...it was **my** trial, I felt it was **my** decision...so we had never really discussed this...but now I really understand the intimacy, it feels wrong to not ask my friend about his feelings...

_"Of course...it is your decision...this is all about you...you do whatever you want to..."_

_"John, how do **you** feel about me being in there?"_

He swallows deeply.

_"I'm worried...that I may upset you...that you may feel betrayed by something I say...that something I say could hurt you..."_

I don't just disregard his concerns, they are valid...I can't pretend they aren't.

_"I understand that...but I think I need to hear it all..."_

I can see how pulled he is, between wanting to give me everything I want, and his own fears...

 _"How about if I promise to talk to you about the things that upset me...?"_ I offer gently...

Another deep breath precedes a curt nod...

 _"Can we talk about your testimony too?"_ he asks quietly...

Yesterday, this would have been a firm no...but now, I already feel the need to talk about it...and the worst it still to come...

He seems to sense my reticence...

_"It's not the same...you deserve to hear what I say...I'm here for you...You don't have to tell me anything you are not comfortable with...You would just be agreeing to a conversation, not to tell me every detail...I can imagine there are some things you don't want to share..."_

_"It doesn't feel like I have that right anymore...to **not** share...today, it feels like my life has been torn open for everyone to judge...and the cross examination hasn't even begun..."_

_"Well you have the right to not share with me!"_ he assures, tears gathering in his eyes at the strength of my pain, even though he tries not to let me see them _..."I'm so sorry you have to go through this..."_

_"It's always been a possibility that I could lose...but I kindda felt that I deserved to win, because I was telling the truth...but today...it feels like I **really** may lose..."_

I unconsciously lean into him as I speak, and when I don't stop him from letting go of the hand he has held onto faithfully, all through lunch, he turns to me wrapping me, tightly, in his arms...

Knowing that someone cares enough to sit with me, just because I'm upset...holding me, to protect me as much as he can...knowing that when I go back to sit on that stand, he will be sitting outside waiting for me...gives me a boost in self belief...

Maybe I really can do this?

But all too soon, my break is nearly over, and it is time to make our way back to the courthouse...

I just look at him, unsure if we can even walk back together...

_"We're colleagues, I'm testifying **for** you...I don't think it would be a problem to walk in together...I think Barba just worries that if the Jury feel we were too close, maybe they would question my testimony...They would think that I misinterpreted what I saw, because we were close..."_

I nod eagerly, unsure if I'm agreeing because he is right, or because I don't think I can go back and face what awaits me, if I have to do it alone...

We stand and make our way back...walking side by side...his presence meaning more than I can ever hope to put into words.

When we reach the area I waited in this morning, Barba and Olivia are standing in the center of the hallway...

As Barba's eye lands on John he shoots him a barely disguised, look of warning...

 _"We need to get back in there..."_ the lawyer says to me...

 _"Do I need to wait to be called again?"_ I whisper, unsure whether I can face another wait...

 _"No, we start with you on the stand again..."_ he says softly... _"You did really well before lunch, just keep doing exactly what you are doing!"_

His last words are lost, as the defense sweep by us... **him** and his lawyer...

My legs start to shake again, at the sight of **him**...my stomach rolling, the world starting to fade away...but Barba freezes John in place with a glare, and

Olivia puts a hand out to support me...

 _"Come on! Let's get you settled, before I have to come back out here..."_ she says softly...making it clear that this walk through the court room to the stand, won't be undertaken alone...

 _"Good Luck..."_ John shouts after us...before Barba points him to the bench I'd sat on earlier...

As Olivia accompanies me up the aisle of the courtroom, it feels infinitely shorter than it did earlier...

 _"Is Barba pissed at us?"_ I whisper into her ear...

She shakes her head strongly...

 _"Not at all..."_ she smiles at me.

 _"He's glad you aren't alone anymore."_ She whispers back, _"He just doesn't want to take any risks with the case...but he understands...sometimes the person supporting us, the person we need to help us get through, isn't the one the rules would choose..."_

Once again, I feel she **understands** my situation...and I can't help wondering if she had someone the rules deemed inappropriate, supporting her? Was the person she turned to, someone who had the potential to derail the process he was trying to support her through?

As I step onto the stand, I quickly call her back...

_"You're next... testifying, aren't you?"_

She just nods...

_"Can I stay, and listen?"_

_"Of course, once you have testified, you can listen to anything else that you want to..."_

_"But do you mind if I stay?"_

Her face immediately softens, as she realizes I'm not asking about the law, I'm asking her permission...

_"I would be honored that you want to hear what I have to say. And I would like you to hear how well you have handled an incredibly difficult situation, with such grace..."_

_"Lieutenant!"_ Barba mutters sharply from his desk...reminding her that court is about to reconvene, and she needs to be on the other side of the doors...

She nods at him...softly wishing me luck as she strides back into the hallway...

For the first time I look up to see who is filling the seats of the gallery, and immediately regret it, dipping my eyes back down as the doors bang shut and the court officer announces the Judge once more. I stand shakily, with everyone else until she tells us to sit...

She reminds me I'm under oath before turning to the defense _..."Mr. Buchanan..."_

 

**A/N** **I know Liv bent the rules a little by encouraging this lunch with John but I think she understands the need for support...**


	21. Cross-Examination

For the first time I look up to see who is filling the seats of the gallery, and immediately regret it, dipping my eyes back down as the doors bang shut, and the court officer announces the Judge once more. I stand shakily, with everyone else, until she tells us to sit...

She reminds me I'm under oath before turning to the defense _..."Mr. Buchanan..."_

I never thought I would be here...when I sat on that narrow bed in the hospital, waiting for a doctor, I would have bet that I would leave there without ever allowing a full rape exam...and then there wasn't really a time through out this whole episode, that I really **believed** , I would have the strength to go this far...I couldn't imagine back then, being able to make a statement, being able to make a case...

That first day in Barba's office floods back; how I jumped up, knocking stuff off his desk, and fled before anyone could follow...Even before that, the day I first met the lawyer, I collapsed in a puddle of weakness at his feet, in my own home... I was just confronted by my own weakness at every turn... it never seemed possible I could get to this point...

I'm aware it is arguably, a victory to have even gotten this far...to be sitting here...but the fear now, is exponentially worse, than this morning...and I wasn't sure I could stay conscious then...I feel lightheaded, my heart is pounding and I'm shaking...Is this really, what a true victory feels like?

Suddenly I'm aware that Mr. Buchanan is calling my name...

 _"Sorry?"_ I say quickly, trying to lock my attention back into the courtroom...

 _"I asked you what the verdict of the investigation report Mr Barba, entered into evidence was?"_ he asks, his voice much softer than I expected...

_"The author deemed my allegations **unproven** but..."_

The big man doesn't allow me to finish, smoothly twisting my words without any effort...and it occurs to me this is most probably only the first of many things, I won't get the opportunity to explain properly...

_"So the result of the investigation was that my client, Mr. Smith, was found not guilty?"_

_"No, he..."_ I try to explain, as the lawyer interrupts once more...

 _"I'm confused, so he was found guilty?"_ The man looks truly confused...

_"No, they couldn't prove that he had done what I alleged but..."_

_"Which means he was found not-guilty!"_ he says looking to the jury as one might when begging the patience and indulgence of someone, whilst dealing with a particularly willful child, or a confused older person...

His tone is even, there isn't hint of nastiness, in the almost, gently asked questions...like he is just trying to understand...

 _"You were angry that he wasn't punished for these **perceived** wrongdoings, weren't you?"_ he says holding up his copy of the investigation report...

_"I was upset that he had hurt me, and it wasn't treated as seriously as I felt it should have been..."_

In the moment, I forget Barba's advice to reiterate the crimes committed by Mr. Smith as part of my answer, never allowing the lawyer to distance his client from the charges...instead I sound defensive...

 _"So you wanted to do things better this time?"_ he fires back immediately...

 _"I don't understand?"_ I mutter looking to Barba, desperately...

 _"Your Honor!"_ he exclaims, jumping to his feet, as the judge fixes Buchanan with an impatient stare...

 _"Withdrawn, your Honor!"_ Buchanan announces loudly, before Barba can finish his objection...

 _"So, can we agree there was unpleasant history between you and my client?"_ He continues, once again, in his soft, even voice...

I nod carefully...I have seen a flash of this lawyers fangs, in his sharp insinuation that I was after revenge...

_"Your Honor, can you remind the witness we need verbal answers?"_

_"Sorry! Yes I would agree that there was unpleasant history between Mr. Smith and myself..."_ I fire back before the judge can say anything...

_"So why would my client wish to open himself up to any more **trouble** with you?"_

I shrug my shoulders lightly, _"I don't know!"_

_"Hmmmm...but yet we are to believe that after **years**...he chooses to assault you?"_

Once again, the look on the lawyer's face is one of befuddlement...

 _"He didn't work in the industry for years..."_ I try to explain, not seeing the trap he had set for me...

_"So you caused him to lose his livelihood, through your previous **allegations**...and yet we are to believe, he was unwise enough to approach you again..."_

Barba is on his feet again, _"Your Honor, is there a question there, or is Counsel planning on testifying?"_

 _"Move it along Counselor!"_ the judge warns Buchanan...

_"The question is; did **you** not, in fact, corner **my client** in that storage room? Did **you** not threaten to make untrue allegations **again** , if he didn't agree to rekindle the relationship, that when he broke it off all those years ago, caused you to make the initial **allegations**?"_

I knew it was coming...but yet it feels like an actual, physical, punch to my gut...

 _"There was never a relationship..."_ I whine weakly...

_"Really? So you didn't make those very weak, and yet still **unproven** , allegations detailed in that report, out of spite, when my client realized his mistake in embarking on an affair with you?"_

_"No"_ I counter but there isn't enough passion behind it, as I sit, punch drunk already, clasping onto the front of the stand...

_"But you don't like to lose, and you hated to see him back, trying to work at what he loves...and when you couldn't turn everyone against him, **you** cornered **him** , and left him in a no-win situation, either he has rough sex with you, as you demand, or you ruin his life **again**?"_

_"No, it's not what happened..."_ I plead feebly...looking to the jury who are studying the man sitting at the defense table...

_" **You** coerced **him** into rough sex?"_

_"No"_ I whisper again, tears flowing openly down my cheeks...

Somehow I had always pictured the lawyer asking these questions, as a shouting, raging, individual...not the calm, collected, soft spoken, lawyer before me. He asks the questions as though they are real and valid queries...and the way he maintains his distance from the stand, not crowding me, even stepping back when I lean away from him, makes him seem courteous...considerate of me, even as he tries to cast doubt on ever aspect of my personality, and the evidence I am giving...

_" **You** coerced **Mr. Smith** into rough sex, as you had participated in before?"_

He continues to fire, almost the same question at me, framed in slightly different ways, without ever giving me time to answer...

_"But when that **rough sex** , you had initiated, was interrupted...you opted to accuse an innocent man, who just wanted to continue his job and his family life, of rape anyway?"_

_"No"_ I mutter, over and over, now quickly becoming hysterical...

_"You were the one who initiated this sexual act! You left my client with no options; he either participated in rough sex as you demanded, or you ruin his life... **again**?"_

_"Your Honor! This has gone from a cross examination...he is badgering the witness, repeating 'asked and answered' questions!"_ Barba barks angrily.

_"Mr. Buchanan, Mr. Barba is correct...this is inappropriate...the witness has answered your question!"_

I'm now sobbing loudly, my head has dropped to my knees and I am beyond responding, when the Judge calls my name...

 _"Your Honor, may we have a few minutes...?"_ Barba asks quickly...

 _"A 20 minute recess, Mr. Barba! And Mr. Buchanan, you will modify your behavior when we return!"_ she announces banging her gavel quickly.

The bang leaves me cowering as far away from the defense and the judge as I can get...

Barba shoots a quick text to Olivia, as he makes his way up to me...immediately turning off the microphone on the stand...

 _"Lieutenant Benson will be here in a second! It's ok! He was over the line! It's going to be ok..."_ he tries to assure me as I continue to sob...

As promised, in only a matter of seconds, Olivia is standing beside him _..."What happened?"_ she demands...

He explains quickly, and she drops to her knees at the side of the stand talking to me gently, until my breathing starts to normalize...

 _"I can't do it!"_ I finally admit _..."...it's too much..."_

 _"Yes, you can!"_ she counters softly _..."He's not allowed to go after you like that...The Jury won't like that..."_

 _"I lost it...All I could say was no!...there were no other words...everything we practiced was gone..."_ I know I've lost now, and I don't want to undergo any more torture...

But Barba grabs a pen and starts scribbling...

 _"I know you feel like it's lost...but it really isn't! I'm asking you to trust me? I know it's a lot to ask...but please, don't give in now!?"_ he asks as he finishes whatever he needed to write so urgently...

He looks to Olivia, who raises an eyebrow, but then nods gently at me, when the lawyer doesn't break eye contact...

 _"Nothing to regret...!"_ she reminds me softly...

They stay with me, until the last possible second, trying to calm me as much as possible...but as the judge returns to the bench, it would be kind to just call me 'skittish'...

 _"Are you feeling better?"_ the judge asks me softly...

 _"I'm sorry your Honor, it just got too much..."_ I explain weakly...

 _"I couldn't have put it any better myself!"_ she says turning to Mr. Buchanan, _"I'm warning you Mr. Buchanan...I expect you to comport yourself properly in my courtroom or you will be held in contempt!"_

 _"Sorry your Honor!"_ he says...with an appropriately sheepish look...

 _"Continue, Mr. Buchanan"_ she says with a final look of admonishment...

 _"I'm glad you're feeling better, can I get you some more water? Or tissues?"_ he asks...

I can only shake my head..." _No thank you!"_ , I add softly, his mock concern almost more sickening, than his offensive tirade...

_"So...you say my client shoved you against a wall...against your will?"_

_"Yes, he did..."_

_"Why didn't you scream **then**? When it could have been stopped, if it was something you didn't want?"_

I try to sort through the answers in my head; because I was afraid he was only going to threaten me, because I couldn't believe he would really hurt me again, because I couldn't find my voice...

 _"Your Honor?"_ he asks the judge...seemingly not wanting to upset me once more...by pushing too hard...but I know it's all for the jury's benefit...

_"I was afraid, and didn't want to believe it was possible, that he would hurt me again..."_

_"Or were you a willing participant in a risky sex act in your place of work? Where you were likely to be caught?"_

_"No! I couldn't believe it..."_ I try to insist...

He shakes his head in disbelief, picking up the notepad from his desk...

_"But you say, 'you could feel his erection pressing into you'...'that he laughed at you when you sobbed' while he had you pushed against the wall...Surely by that point, to any reasonable adult, his intent would have been clear... Why didn't you scream out? Call out for help from your colleagues? Try to run?... if you didn't want what he was doing?"_

He is using my own words against me, much as Barba had rehearsed with me, so I take a deep breath, trying to address each question...

_"He was pressing me up against the wall, his arms were either side of my body, I couldn't get away...Just before he forced me to the ground I did start telling him 'no!', but he didn't listen..."_

By skipping over this first question, the one I haven't figured out my answer to, it leaves the door open for him to pester me...

_"Why didn't you call for your colleagues...? Scream?"_

_"I don't know...it was like my voice didn't work...at first I couldn't even say no!"_

It sounds weak, my voice trembling, as I anticipate even more backlash from my stuttering answer...

_"And I wasn't counting, but you said he hit your head off the wall or ground...at least ...4 times, is that fair...?"_

_"Yes..."_ I whisper after taking a second to count...even in my current state, I'm begin to realize that his propensity for leaving a subject hanging, is meant to allow the jury to make their own decision, leaving a gap for you fill yourself...to make him and therefore his client, seem more reasonable...

_"And he is a lot taller and heavier than you?"_

_"Yes..."_ I say again...trying not to give him anything else he can use against me...

_"If this weren't a sex game, if he really intended you harm, surely a man his size would injure you a lot more than a few bruised ribs, and a mild concussion?"_

_"There were a lot of cuts and bruises...the burns from the concrete rubbing..."_ I start to add but he cuts me off...

_"All of which can be explained by exuberant sex...on a rough surface...As can the bruises on your neck...It would seem to me that a man as big as you point out he is, were he intent on hurting you, would have done a lot more damage than you seem to have experienced...would you not agree?"_

_"He did hurt me...and it didn't feel like he was holding back when he was doing it!"_

This is an exchange it seems I am very quickly losing, judging by the expressions on some of the juror's faces...it feels that he is introducing reasonable doubt...Barba had prepared me, well, had tried to, that the defense would most likely just try to offer a different but plausible, alternative to my version of events...and it seems that the jury may very well find this alternative explanation very plausible...

_"You also say he tried to hurt you when he pushed his penis inside you, and again, every time he subsequently thrust into you?"_

The words he is using, are almost calculated to embarrass me, but I struggle not to flinch...

_"I said he seemed to try to push into me, harder, every time...he wasn't gentle..."_

_"But you didn't want gentle, did you? You wanted a rough, hard, screw...from a **big** guy?"_

_"No!"_ I gasp, as I finally understand his unspoken inference...

_"But again, there is only mild injury... also consistent with rough sex!"_

_"There was tearing inside me...I had cuts, bruising in my... vagina"_

I force myself to be blunt, to leave no doubt...

_"But there is no permanent injury...nothing more serious than rough sex with a 'big guy', might result in...not the type of injury it sounds like the rough attack you described to the court, might be expected to cause...?"_

I have to close my eyes, the images assaulting me make me queasy...How is it possible that while rubbishing my claim of rape, he is managing to brag about his size?

 _"I hope none of you ever have sex, like what was done to me that day!"_ I say to the jury...trying to calm the anger brewing inside me...

The lawyer doesn't reply to my outburst, merely ignores it...moving on...

_"Then you say, that whatever was happening between you and Mr. Smith, was interrupted by one of your colleagues... **finally** something you and my client can agree on...!"_

_"Your Honor!"_ Barba exclaims once more...

_"Sorry your Honor, rephrase...You didn't call the police when your colleague interrupted?"_

_"No...John did...my colleague did!"_

_"If you had really just been assaulted, as you **claim**...given that you claim you hadn't been able to **find** your voice to cry for help...surely you would have been eager to call the police when you were safe? But you weren't were you? You tried to leave **without** calling them?"_

The way he is saying the word _'claim_ ' leaves little doubt as to how unbelievable he finds my version of events...

_"I was in shock! And half naked...my clothes were torn...I felt exposed...I just wanted to get away before everyone saw me..."_

_"I don't think anyone doubts how embarrassing it would be to be caught in such a compromising position..."_ he looks to the jury with a barely disguised sneer, _"...especially with someone who you had previously brought charges against...it would surely have taken some creative explaining...I'm sure **exposed** is the perfect word to describe the interruption!?"_

_"No! John interrupted my rape! He saw me fighting..."_

_"Your Honor, the witness cannot testify to what someone else supposedly saw!"_ Buchanan objects quickly...

 _"Please limit yourself, to what **you** , experienced, saw and heard please?"_ the judge tells me.

 _"I didn't want any contact whatsoever, with **him**!"_ I counter, still trying desperately, to plead my case...

 _"Your Honor, I asked no question..."_ he mutters...as he meanders over to his notes, checking through them for any missed points...allowing me to simmer...

_"When this **contact** was interrupted, was my client pulled off you? Or knocked off you?"_

I knew I had misspoken, and hope that this doesn't become a huge point of contention...

_"John came running across the space, and tackled him... the collision knocked him off me..."_

The lawyer seems to be thinking about this _..."Well surely if he was knocked off you, as you describe, whilst you were engaging in sexual intercourse, it would not be implausible to acquire some bruising, even tearing, from the collision...Isn't it also possible that this is when you banged your head, resulting in the mild concussion...?"_

 _"No!"_ I gasp loudly, _"No! He banged my head off the floor and the wall, I didn't hit my head when John saved me...and I was in pain before John_ _intervened...I was in pain from the moment his penis penetrated me...he was so rough..."_

 _"No more questions for this witness your Honor!"_ he finally decides, after checking his notes once more, taking his seat and whispering to his client with a big smile on his face...he had offered the jury an alternate version of the events I had described, and had reduced me to hysterical mess and then goaded me into angry, careless answers...

 _"Redirect, Your Honor?"_ Barba jumps to his feet...

The judge nods her permission...as Barba gets to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he comes to stand beside the jury once more...

_"When you were shocked by an unprovoked, and unwelcome, physical, **attack** from Mr. Smith, especially with your previous history, what was the first feeling you experienced?"_

_"Fear..."_ I answer, pretty quickly...it was the main feeling that can be found the whole way through this hellish experience...and it was the first thing I remember feeling...

_"I don't believe any of us are at our most eloquent, when we are truly fearful. And when you did find your voice, through that fear, what was the word that best expressed what you were feeling?"_

I'm not sure I understand where he is going with this question, but I do as he asked, I trust him, and try to allow my mind to go back there...tears springing forward again...as I can almost feel it happening...

My voice finally offers a croaky... _'No!"_

 _"Why 'no'?"_ He asks delicately...

I finally see where he is going; this is what he had been scribbling...

 _"Because there were no other words...I was saying no! 'No' to what he was doing, 'No' to him hurting me again..."_ I say with all the strength I can manage..

_"Finally, were you embarrassed that your colleague found you in that situation? Bruises and cuts all over you, your ribs causing you pain, a concussion, and internal damage?"_

I nod, _"Yes...I felt exposed and weak..."_

_"It is something you have really struggled with since the attack, isn't it?"_

I try not to feel betrayed at him divulging what feels like my last secret, and strain to trust him... _"Yes"_

_"Why has this been such a struggle, even more than what everyone else thought... when your attack became public knowledge?"_

_"Because I couldn't save myself...I needed someone else to save me...and he had to see **that**..."_

_"So Mr. Smith used enough of his strength that you couldn't escape him. And when you broke through that very understandable shock, the attack caused you to experience, the only word you could find that explained how you felt was 'no'! You suffered a litany of injuries ranging from cuts and bruises, to friction burns, bruised ribs, and a concussion from fighting him, despite the considerable difference in height and weight, between you...and you were **embarrassed** to need someone to help you?"_

_"Yes"_ I repeat, tears blurring my vision...

_"It sounds to me that the damage he did is much more extensive than we first thought...and I don't see how you could have fought any harder...but let's just put that aside for a moment, would you rather have avoided the embarrassment that came with being discovered in that situation, and let the situation play itself out to its natural conclusion?"_

_"God NO! Never..."_

_"Why not, what do you believe that conclusion would have been?"_

_"He would have hurt me **more**..."_

_"So maybe the injury list is lighter than some would expect, because he wasn't done with you...he was interrupted..."_ Barba looks at me carefully before shaking his head _"...and thank god for that interruption..."_

Buchanan jumps to his feet, _"Your Honor, Counsel is editorializing!"_

 _"Withdrawn!"_ Barba says quickly...heading back to his seat... " _Thank you for your patience..."_ he says to both me, and the jury... _"No more questions, Your Honor!"_

The judge dismisses me, but it seems to take an inordinate amount of time for me to make my way off the stand...Despite how reluctantly I had made my way here earlier, now I already feel the first pangs of regret; for things I didn't get to say...things I could have phrased much better...

The tears that don't seem to have stopped since I entered this room are not halted by my release...

Now, everything is once more, outside of my control... I was only a witness, and I've given my testimony...I have no more part to play...

I try not to, but can't seem to avoid **his** smiling face as I make my way out...his delight makes my loss seem once more, inevitable...

I attempt to get out of the courtroom without making eye contact with **his** wife, but again it seems like I'm drawn to her...she is simmering with rage...and

I almost run to the large wooden doors as the court officer opens them for me...


	22. Small Victories

The tears that don't seem to have stopped since I entered this room are not halted by my release...

Now, everything is once more, outside of my control...I was only a **witness** , and I've given my testimony...I have no more part to play...

I try not to, but can't seem to avoid **his** smiling face as I make my way out...his delight, makes my loss seem once more, inevitable...

I attempt to get out of the courtroom without making eye contact with **his** wife, but again it seems like I'm drawn to her...she is simmering with rage...and I almost run to the large wooden doors, as the court officer opens them for me...

I'm in such a state, that I'm completely oblivious to the case continuing without me, as I look around the now familiar hallway for help...

John has seen me exiting, and runs to catch me before I can sink to the floor...closely followed by Olivia...

Between them, they manage to bundle me over to the bench I had been so glad to escape from earlier...

_ "I fucked it all up...they believe him..." _ I sob over and over...

John holds me tightly as I sob, but he clearly has no idea what to say, doing the only thing he can...holding me...while Olivia tries to comfort me...

_ "No! It feels like that...by the time the defense is finished, it always feels like that...you feel like you've had to defend everything...and haven't been able to?" _

Even as I cry bitterly against John, I can see he is listening carefully...trying to learn...and he seems surprised when I nod sadly at Olivia's statement...

_ "It's Buchanan's job to give the jury a different version of what happened..." _ Olivia continues quietly, _"...to try to make it sound like something else...to make the man who hurt you, look completely innocuous..."_

Again I nod... _"He does...he doesn't look like someone who would do **that** , he looks like a family man...with his wife sitting behind him..."_

_ "But the evidence is on your side...as is the truth...Don't panic..." _ she tells me, as the court officer comes to call her...

She doesn't seem bothered in the least, as she finishes comforting me before she strides confidently through the doors I have only exited...

_ "Can I get you anything?" _ the almost unnoticed man beside John, asks softly, as I curl tighter into my friend, in terror...the unnamed man seems to recognize my fear, immediately stepping back as casually as he can manage...

_ "Do you remember Detective Fin?" _ John asks me softly...immediately aware of the tension that floods my body...

_ "I'm sorry..."  _ I start to say...but the detective, he cuts me off lightly...

_ "There's no need...we only met once, very briefly..." _

As he did that day in the hospital, all those months ago, the man seems to exude a gentle kindness...that belies his appearance...

_ "Olivia was right though...after testifying, it never seems to be going well...I think it's because they seem to doubt everything you say...Can I get you anything?" _ he says gently.

I shake my head...as I slowly pull away from John, _"No thank you..."_ I force my mouth to form the words...

I'm aware that this man seems to be a sort of 'Olivia' for John, so I'm not particularly worried how he will judge my need for support, but as I regain my control, I become aware of how this could look...me wrapped, sobbing, in the arms of the man who witnessed part of my rape, and stopped it...

As I calm, I can't help feeling the pull of the courtroom...I want to hear Olivia's testimony...the panic, the fear seems to start growing once I remember the case is continuing and I can't even hear what is being said...I'm not sure I can cope with hearing what will be said about me, but I can't sit here... waiting ...

I squeeze John's hand...asking the detective quietly...

_ "Do you think I would be allowed...?" _ I gesture towards the closed door...

_ "If you were really quiet, and stayed at the back..." _ he smiles softly...

John is looking at me in bewilderment, as I stand up slowly...

_ "I need to..." _ is all I can say by means of explanation, but he nods lightly...as I creep over to the door, slipping through the small gap the court officer creates for me...silently dropping into the closest seat I can find...

_ "Lieutenant Benson...you were the officer called to the hospital to take an initial statement from the victim, can you describe what you found there?" _ Barba asks...

_ "I found a woman, who despite her injuries, and her obvious shock, was able to describe her attack clearly. She identified her assailant. And all through the initial statement, **and** the following investigation, she has showed herself to be a balanced, intelligent and strong-minded person, who has shown great bravery, and grace, in dealing with the rigors of an investigation and trial. Her story has been consistent the whole way through." _

Barba nods thoughtfully.

_ "You were present at the forensic exam?" _ he asks, and when she confirms her presence, he continues, _"From your many years of experience,... if Counsel is willing to stipulate to the Lieutenant's lengthy experience in SVU?"_

From my position in the courtroom I can't see the reaction from the Defense, but when Barba continues, I assume there was a nod _... "What did the exam show, Lieutenant?"_

_ "It showed the victim sustained numerous cuts and bruises, including bruised ribs, bruises to her thighs, wrists and neck, a mild concussion, and some internal tears and bruising." _ Olivia states clearly.

_ "And in your experience, are these injuries consistent with her statement?" _ Barba counters...

_ "They are. They are also consistent with the injuries one might expect to see in victims of rape." _

I try not to allow the words she is saying, to hurt...this is a good thing...she is telling the court that she believes me, and that the evidence supports me...but hearing the cuts and bruises that caused me such pain, reduced down to such words, is difficult...it seems that the label I have been so loathe to accept, has nonetheless, been forced upon me...I am a 'victim of rape'...

_ "You also questioned the defendant, Lieutenant, was his story consistent?" _

_ "No it wasn't. At first he claimed there was no contact between him and the victim, at all...until we made it clear there was a witness to contact...then he changed his statement to claim that it was consensual sexual contact. When pushed to explain the injuries the victim sustained, he told us that she was the one to initiate the contact, and that she had threatened to "cry rape" if he refused to acquiesce to her demands..." _

She is a very confident and believable witness, and the tone she uses on the words _"cry rape"_ make her feelings on the subject very clear, but I can't help flinching at them...even though I understand why she is using **his** words...

_ "So **his** statement changed in the initial hours...was it consistent thereafter?" _ the lawyer continues...

_ "Once he hired counsel, he made no further statement." _

Barba looks to the defense in surprise...but says nothing...until he turns back to the witness stand...

_ "And as the investigation continued, Lieutenant, did you find there was a general acceptance of the victim's assertion that there was a complicated history between her and the defendant?" _

These questions are agony to listen to...

_ "We did. We spoke to both his, and her colleagues, that were present that day, and to their bosses, and most of them confirmed that it was very widely known that there had been serious problems between the victim and defendant in the past." _

_ "And Lieutenant, was it also commonly known that she was afraid to be in the company of the defendant?" _

I feel as though every part of my life has been torn open, as though every unguarded word I ever uttered, has the potential to let him escape consequences again...It feels like I am the one on trial...not **him**...

_ "It was...Many of her colleagues told us that she had very clearly said, that she was afraid to be alone with the defendant. That she had asked people to "not leave her alone" while she knew he was on-site, and that she spoke to her boss on more than one occasion to try and avoid situations that could become difficult, even offering to turn down work if it was necessary... They also made it clear that this was a very unusual situation, as the victim was very capable of standing up to anyone." _

Barba takes a folder of statements from his desk, officially entering the statements into evidence...

_ "Lieutenant, was there anything in the evidence that gave you cause for concern, as to the validity of the victim's accusations?" _

_ "No, there was not. **Every** piece of evidence supported her description of the events, from her injuries, to both the victim and defendant's clothing, and all evidence discovered at the crime site. As well as the witness' account..." _

All through her testimony she has been talking to the men and women seated in the jury box, but her last words are delivered very carefully towards the empanelled dozen...

_ "Thank you Lieutenant." _ Barba says as he retakes his seat. _"No more questions, your Honor!"_

I see the judge turn to where the Defense sits, _"Your witness Mr. Buchanan..."_

_ "Lieutenant Benson..." _ the big man starts, as he gets to his feet, _"You say that none of the evidence calls into question the victim's account of the events? But does it **disprove** my client's account of the same events?"_

_ "It disproves his initial assertion that there was no contact whatsoever between..." _ She answers calmly...

_ "That was a man in the grip of shock and panic himself...terrified that his life was about to be torn apart as had just been threatened..." _ he tells the jury, as Barba starts to jump to his feet, the lawyer quickly adds his question... _"But is there anything in the evidence that disproves my client's account of events?"_

_ "It is unlikely that the victim banged her own head..." _ Olivia says coldly, looking to the jury.

_ "That wasn't the question Lieutenant...Does any of the evidence **disprove** my client's account?" _

_ "The witness who interrupted **disputes** that version..." _ she perseveres.

_ "But none of the physical evidence?" _ he pushes again, trying to force her to say what he wants her to...

_ "It doesn't disprove it **but** it is unlikely..." _

_ "So the evidence doesn't disprove my client's account of events...No more questions your Honor!" _ Buchanan says with a satisfied grin...

As she steps down from the stand Olivia looks irritated, and she doesn't seem to see me tucked into the corner of the gallery, as she strides out the door of the court room.

I barely have time to consider the effect of her words on the case, before Barba is calling her partner to the stand.

He seems to search me out, as he makes his way into the room, giving me a tight nod.

The court officer swears him in and he takes his place on the stand his partner has barely vacated...

_ "Detective Tutuola, you took a statement from the only eye witness to the crime, where did that take place?" _

_ "We took his initial statement in the hospital waiting room. He took the victim to seek medical care, when he found her...he called us from the hospital" _

_ "So there was a delay in the reporting of the crime?" _

I can't help a gasp at the question coming from the man who claimed to be my advocate...

_ "I wouldn't say a delay...he felt that the victim was in need of medical attention and that due to their proximity to the hospital, he felt it prudent to get her to hospital before taking any other action...there was no more than 30 minutes elapsed between him finding the victim and calling 911..." _

When I hear Fin's answer, I understand that Barba was trying to close down any potential leverage points for Buchanan, but the question makes me feel doubted once more...

_ "And what was your impression of the witness when you took his statement?" _ the lawyer asks

I try to think back to the man who brought me to the hospital, but my memory is limited...I was too wrapped up in myself, to have really paid much attention to how he was...I remember him helping me, giving my name to the reception desk, touching me gently to help lead me...but I jumped, flinching away from his hand as though he had hurt me...

_ "He was shocked...struggling to understand what had happened...constantly asking about the victim...but he was very clear in his statement and in his description of what he witnessed...and his facts lined up with the victim's statement, and evidence recovered..." _

I feel sick at the thought that John was suffering in the hospital too, and I was so desperate to avoid him...

_ "You were also involved in the ensuing investigation, Detective?" _

_ "I was. We discovered, as we investigated, that there is a collective guilt amongst their colleagues that they were aware of the victim's fear of the defendant, but that this was allowed to happen anyway..." _

While this isn't a surprise to me, I've seen hints of it since I've gone back to work, John has even admitted this guilt to me, but to hear it paraded around so publicly makes me wonder if I'm doing even more harm to everyone, myself included, in pursuing these charges...

_ "Thank you Detective...No more for this witness, your Honor!" _ Barba says sitting down once more...

_ "Mr. Buchanan?" _ The judge asks...

_ "The witness spent time, **alone** , with the victim, immediately after interrupting the sexual contact between my client and the victim?" _

_ "He brought her to the hospital..." _

_ "That would be a yes then Detective?" _ Buchanan demands...

_ "Yes, while he..." _

_ "That will be all, thank you Detective!" _ The lawyer interjects quickly with a disbelieving look to the jury...

I can't believe that is all Buchanan wants to ask Fin...if John had been alone with me? The implication is clear...and it sickens me...

The judge looks at her watch, pointedly weighing up the options...

_ "In light of the hour, we shall recess until tomorrow morning at 9am sharp...Court is adjourned!" _

She bangs her gavel before standing and making her way out the door.

The gallery immediately starts to empty, until very soon there are only a handful of people left in the courtroom.

I watch **him** lean over, whispering in the ear of his lawyer, a wide smile on his lips.

I can't draw my eye away, even as he stands up and walks through the little gate dividing the court from the public viewing area...Until I see this, I had managed to gloss over the fact that no matter the outcome of today, he will be going home...

I watch him stand at the end of the row of seats directly behind his lawyer; he is seemingly, still unaware of my presence in the room, as he waits impatiently, for his wife...

I can't help wondering if **his** stomach is in knots with worry, if **he** will struggle to sleep tonight, if **he** holds the same terror I do, about coming back tomorrow to hear his character being pulled apart...

I jump when I feel a hand delicately placed on my shoulder, _"Come on...Let's get you out of here!"_ Olivia says softly as she follows my eye line...

I turn my head back to where **he** was standing, to find he is looking straight at me...as is his wife...and there is no missing the fury in her eyes...

I grab for my bag, my blurry vision causing me to knock it over rather than grasp the handle I had aimed for, and all of the withheld emotions of the day claw their way out, as the contents of the bag spill all over the floor...

Olivia leans down and helps me gather the phone, keys, wallet and make up that litter the tiles around my feet...

_ "It's ok...the first day is over...you've testified...you've done it..."  _ she soothes, as she helps me shove the detritus back into my bag...

As Olivia helps me, her partner steps into the courtroom, suspiciously watching the man, who even in this setting, with two police officers beside me, still terrifies me, until he has left the room with his agitated wife...

Buchanan gathers up his paperwork, wishing Barba a good evening, as he lumbers out behind his client, he only nods curtly to Olivia and Fin.

Barba makes his way down to me once he has returned his files to his briefcase but before he can speak...

_ "It's not going well..." _ I say to him, no hint of a question...in the flat words...

The man scrubs his hand over his face, _"It isn't going badly...unfortunately this is fairly typical...it's not like it is on TV, or in movies...a case like this...it's a bit like a point scoring contest...there are no great speeches that win the entire jury over...it's a continuous slog, from the first, to the last witness...but you more than held your own! And it may not seem like much, but all that Buchanan could do to question the Lieutenant was to get her to say the evidence doesn't **disprove** their version of events...And with the Detective, he could only try to imply that you had time to influence John's testimony **after** he had intervened..."_

The lawyer looks me in the eye carefully...

_ "Your testimony had great impact...the jury were moved by your words and some were visibly upset...I can only imagine how hard it was for you...but you were a good witness, you remembered so much of what we had rehearsed...and we still have the doctor to testify to your injuries, forensics to speak to the evidence collected, and John to tell the jury what he saw...You were the first witness, because everything that follows, echoes and supports what you said! And after your testimony I would have very little doubt that Buchanan **has** to put Smith on the stand...if he could have shaken you, he may have tried to avoid it, but now he can't, because the only way he can really hope to undermine you, is for his client to tell his story..." _

I listen to everything he says, carefully...not wanting to miss a single word.

_ "He said, she said..." _ I mumble sadly...

_ "Except in this case it's more he said, she said, and the eye witness said..." _ the lawyer adds softly...

I desperately want some sort of assurance...but I know he won't give me one, because he can't...I can see how much he wants to be able to tell me we will win, but he won't lie to me... I respect him so much for that, and appreciate it more than I can tell him, but it feels so hollow...

_ "Was it really, not so bad?"  _ I ask him directly, knowing that he won't lie to me...

_ "I know it doesn't feel it...I know it probably feels like you wasted your time...and I can't guarantee a verdict...but honestly...it's not a lost cause...we took our share of knocks, but we're still ahead..." _

I just nod at the man. He understood I needed some sort of comfort and he wanted to give me something to hold on to...but his words are not enough to push the ominous dark clouds away...

_ "Go home, try to relax, and concentrate on how well **you** did!" _ he tells me softly, _"What you did today, is not easy...and you did it! You told your story, and more than that, you gave the jury a tiny insight into what you experienced...I couldn't have asked for any more..."_

Those expressive green eyes seem to underscore every word he has just said, as he looks at me.

_ "I will see you tomorrow!" _ he says, tapping his briefcase against his leg _..."Detective! Lieutenant!"_ he adds to the two people beside me, with a nod, as he takes his leave...

As I get to my feet, Olivia asks how I am...

I start to shrug my shoulders, _"I don't know...I can't quite believe I've testified...that it's over...It was so much worse than I expected...I just can't shake the feeling that I'm going to lose..."_

She takes a deep breath _..."In my experience with ADA Barba, he would tell you if he felt that was the outcome he expected..."_

Her words are unexpected and cause me to halt in my tracks...

_ "I know there is no point in telling you to try to forget it all until tomorrow, but try not to dwell on the things you didn't get to say or clarify...Barba said you made a good witness...that's high praise! Try to get some sleep, and look after yourself!" _

I can't help a small smile as her partner confirms her words with a curt nod; he is clearly a man of few words...

As I walk out the doors of the courtroom I had so reluctantly entered only a few short hours ago, Olivia's phone starts to ring...

And before she can answer it, her partner has said, _"You get that Liv! I'll walk out with her!"_

Olivia looks to me for my ok, quickly telling me she will see me tomorrow as I nod at her.

_ "Barba doesn't give out praise easily!" _ the man says as we walk down the hallway I hope to never sit in again.

I can't help a chuckle as I tell him, _"I half expected him to read me the riot act for forgetting some of what he told me!"_

The man returns my smile as he tells me, _"He would have done exactly that, if he wasn't happy!"_

It is only as we reach the courthouse steps, that I realize I haven't seen John...I wasn't surprised he didn't come into the courtroom...or that he wasn't directly outside, but it looks like he has gone...and I hate that I'm disappointed and hurt...

The man walking beside me, seems to know what I am thinking... _"John is pulling the car around...he was afraid to be seen hovering around the courtroom..."_

I can't help the wave of relief that passes over me, to know he isn't gone...

_ "He wants to help...don't be afraid to let him..." _ the quiet man whispers as we walk down the steps, he has carefully chosen the door furthest from the gathered press and quickly scans the area...

My words slip out before I can stop them, _"I don't want to hurt him anymore..."_

The man stops immediately. _"You weren't the one who hurt him!"_

The fact that he has read between the lines so accurately, causes me to dip my head, breaking any eye contact...

_ "Listen to me!" _ he pleads. _" **You** were not the one who hurt him! What he saw, hurt him, what was done to you..."_

I raise my eyes slowly, _"But I don't know..."_

_ "I do!" _ he says so softly I barely hear it. _"I've spoken to him...quite a few times...He knows that he can't pretend he is fine, if he wants to help you..."_

The depth of his understanding takes my breath away...

I can only nod at the man, as he continues to lead the way down the steps...

After barely a moment, John pulls up to where we are standing. Fin tugs open the door for me, ducking down to speak to John while I click on the seat belt, _"She did well...but it was a rough day...look after her!"_

John nods, _"Thanks Fin... for everything..."_

I begin to understand Fin's words better, as I realize that he must have been talking to John while I was in the courtroom...and I can barely hold back tears as I nod at the man gratefully. He just nods back and closes the door.

As we pull into traffic, John asks if I want to go out for dinner, or head home, and I opt to head straight home, grateful that he never tries to make even the smallest decisions for me...

Now that I am on my way home, all the resolve that had kept me upright, starts to dissolve, and I barely have the strength to sit up, falling instead, against the door, in silence. I feel bad for the man beside me, but I just can't find any words...not to describe the day, or for small talk...

As he pulls in at my apartment, he turns to me, _"Would it be ok if I came in with you, for a while?"_

Again I can only nod, desperate for the company, even though I can't find a word to speak to him...

He grabs a bag from the backseat, as he walks around the car, opening my door and holding out his arm to me, without a thought. I gratefully accept the support and allow him to lead me home, handing him the keys that shake in my hand, when we reach my front door...

He just drops onto the couch beside me, as I slump down, and he holds my hand as I cry...for the day...for all the things I didn't get to say... for everything that brought me here...

_ "After everything...there's nothing more I can do now..." _ I whisper... _"Win, or lose, I have no more input..."_

He reaches into the bag he dropped when he took his place beside me on the couch. Pulling an envelope and a small brightly colored paper bag out. He places them tentatively on my leg _..."I know it doesn't seem like the right thing to do, to be celebrating today, but I can't let it pass, unmarked...Happy Birthday"_

The reminder causes the tears to speed up again, but the gesture brings a lump to my throat...

_ "It's not much..." _ he says softly, _"I just wanted you to have something to remind you of how incredibly strong you have been..."_

I reach for the card, pulling it from the cream envelope...it isn't a usual birthday card, decorated with multi colored flowers or balloons, it isn't covered in riotous rainbow hued, happy scenarios...it is dark blue with a single silver word embossed across it's front, **_'Strength_** '...

I look to him; unable to believe how he has found a card that doesn't make it even harder...

I flip it open;

_ It didn't seem right to allow the day to pass unmarked...I can't imagine how hard it was to know that you had to testify on a day that should be full of happiness and cake... _

_ Please don't allow it to become a date that makes you sad...You have shown incredible strength and courage, even more so today...so celebrate that! _

_ Celebrate that you are a survivor, someone to look up to, someone that has enough courage and strength to stand up, even when it is hard... _

_ Happy Birthday... _

_ Know I'll be celebrating having a friend like you... _

_ John _

Tears blur my vision as I look at the card, until they drop onto the paper, and I pull it away to prevent the words being smudged...standing it onto the table before me, where it is safe from the water rolling down my face...

The small paper bag is almost burning a hole in my leg now, with anticipation of what it may contain...

Shoving away the tears that won't quit, I unfold the top of the bag and tip the contents into my right hand; it is a thin copper band bracelet with the words _'Strength', 'Perseverance'_ and _'Courage'_ embossed on it...

_ "I remember seeing you wearing a copper band around your wrist a few times...and when I saw it, it was perfect, because if ever anyone was ever the embodiment of those words...it's you!...I hope you like it...?" _

I can only nod repeatedly as I clasp it tightly. Unable, once again, to find the words to express what I am feeling...

He smiles when he sees that the tears are no longer unhappy ones...reaching into his bag once more...

_ "Good, cos I'm not going without cake either...!" _ he announces pulling out a small cake box with a giant lemon and white chocolate muffin...

_ "Happy Birthday!" _ he tells me, jabbing a large, rainbow, birthday candle into the top...which he lights quickly, before I can object...

_ "Make a wish!"  _ he prompts with a broad smile, shoving it at me... _"And that wish had better not be to **not** share this cake!_ ” he chuckles at me.

I just shake my head with a broad smile... _"I'll share..."_ I promise blowing out the candle...


	23. Struggles

The small birthday celebration brings me some minor escape, but the upset of the day in the courthouse won't be held at bay forever. When time marches on, and the specter of returning to court tomorrow, looms large, once more, I find it impossible to hold back the tears, as thoughts of facing another day of torture, fill my head...

After Buchanan's insinuation to Fin, that perhaps I had influenced John's testimony in the hospital, I am much more aware of Barba's concerns...but I can't totally refuse the help John offers so freely. After today, it feels even more essential to me...

So we spend some of the evening discussing how I feel... We are very careful to make no mention of the case that is underway, not talking about the testimony that I have given, no mention of Olivia or Fin's words...but the conversation doesn't feel stunted, it somehow, allows us to talk more openly...because only feelings are up for discussion...there is nothing left to hide behind...I find that once I start, the words come flowing out, almost like they won't be held back anymore...

I tell John my concern about how people will see me now...

How weak this whole **thing** makes me look...

How much I fear, that the men I work with, will be **uneasy** with me now...

How I understand, that they may be concerned about being left alone with me, or working in close physical proximity to me, for fear of my reaction...

I tell him that I worry how I may react to the simple things that were once just a regular part of daily working life...

He doesn't trivialize any of my worries, he listens intently, and talks openly about them...he tells me softly how he doesn't feel uneasy with me, but he does worry about inadvertently, scaring me...or reminding me...

 _"It isn't that I'm treating you like a china doll, or that I'm afraid you'll 'freak out'..."_ he tries to explain, _"It's just that I don't want to be the cause of you being upset, or hurt...I don't want you to feel threatened by something I do...not even for an instant...and I can see how, in an unguarded moment, an unexpected touch, or someone just being too close, could do that...you've been through so much..."_

It feels a little like an opening into the conversation that we have promised to have once he has testified...and I find, surprisingly, that I am no longer dreading that discussion...

I am however, dreading hearing my life being pulled apart again, in that courtroom. And I'm trying to pretend that John's testimony isn't terrifying me...as he once again, cradles my sobbing body...I can't allow myself to put even more pressure on him, by sharing these fears, I know he is already panicked enough... but he seems to know I'm lying, when I try to send him home just before 10pm, claiming it is to allow us both to get some sleep...

 _"You know I won't sleep..."_ he tells me softly, seemingly unembarrassed, at the admission _"...and I don't think you are ready to sleep either?"_

I won't meet his eye, as he ducks his head down...trying to catch my gaze...

 _"So if we are going to worry...and be scared...let's do it together?"_ he whispers...pulling me gently, back into him.

When he feels me relax, he accepts that as his answer...clicking on the TV again...

* * *

 

At some point I must have fallen asleep...because I wake up fighting the same invisible foe that seems to come for me again, every night...

A glass hits the floor and shatters, ratcheting up my terror.

I grasp around for light, for something to defend myself...for **safety**...

The comforter, I had shoved off, as I first started struggling, rubs lightly against my arm, and in the dark it is **him**...

Scrambling to get away, I hear more crashes...things falling...

I'm certain my heart can't take this anymore...as it threatens to pound out of my chest...despite my rapid gasps for air, I'm just not getting enough oxygen...as I cower... **waiting**...

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I start to recognize shapes in the shadowy gloom...

I'm in my living room...

But **he** is here...

I don't allow myself to take much relief in the familiar ground, immediately searching out the switch on the lamp beside the couch I have just jumped off...

As the meager light begins to chase away the blackness, I run to the wall, turning on the main lights, clicking on the front door locks in a panic...

Armed with a heavy crystal vase that usually sits beside the door, I continue to creep around my home, searching for the intruder...turning on any source of light I can find...

When every corner has proven itself, not to be a hiding place for the monster...I slip to the floor, sobbing...still clutching the vase to my chest...

**I was so sure he was here!...**

I'm buffeted between relief at being safe, and panic, that I am losing my already tenuous grip on reality, that the total breakdown, I have always feared is only a heartbeat away, has already claimed me...

Why was I asleep on the couch?

Why were all the lights off?

As the adrenaline slowly leaves my system, I start to remember...I had been sitting with John...I must have fallen asleep...Where is he?

I crawl over to the coffee table, to where the smashed glass glistens...a piece of paper now, catching my eye...

_[You fell asleep...I stayed a while in case you woke, but you were clearly exhausted...I threw a comforter, from your bed, over you, and borrowed your keys to lock the door behind me...I've dropped them back through the letter box..._

_I hope you sleep well...I will call you in the morning to be sure you won't over sleep, so don't worry..._

_John]_

I run over and grab up my keys from where they had lain unnoticed, while I was consumed by my search for the demons that were waiting in the shadows, to hurt me...

I finally return the vase to its place, turning slowly, to take-in the impromptu bed he had made me...the glass of water set beside me on the table...he had even made sure to properly lock the door, not just pulling it behind him...

His thought for me, once more, makes me smile, as tears force their way out again...

He had no way to know that I haven't slept in a dark room in months...that there is always some light source, to keep the inky blackness away...

I'm disappointed in myself, for believing **he** really was here...for falling asleep when my friend needed support too...for sleeping through John moving from where he held me...

If **he** had, really, been here, in my home, that obliviousness could have cost me dearly...

I'm so incredibly frustrated with myself... **How could I still be so naïve, that I let my guard down?**... I start to clean up the smashed glass, righting other things I knocked over in my panic...

As I juggle the largest jagged pieces, the wet glass slides across my palm...at first, there is only a small line, barely a mark, but I watch in slight fascination, as blood drops form along the thin scrape. The blood begins to color the small wound, the edges are defined, and I can see the shallow slice into my flesh. The red starts to gather, until a drip escapes, to roll down my hand...it's not a lot of blood...the cut isn't deep, it definitely doesn't need stitches...but I'm amazed that there is no pain...I'm so overwhelmed, that I can't even feel the cut, that has a thin line of blood running down my arm...

As I throw the glass shards I still cradle, into an empty soup can... I slowly become aware of how much I need to talk, about all of this...how immensely it is affecting me...how numb I feel...

I carefully wash the cut; the sting of the first aid cleanser is almost welcome...

I make a silent promise to myself; that I will find time to go to group in a couple of days time, no matter how tired I may be, even if I have to go straight from court...and I will take advantage of some of the offers to talk, from Olivia and John...

I timidly dab some antiseptic cream on the wound, and cover it with a large Band-Aid...

Broken glass still glints on the floor, forcing me, no matter how exhausted I am, to lift it, or risk another injury...I've learned my lesson though, this time taking the dustpan and brush to save my hands...

When the glass has been brushed up, and the area quickly vacuumed, to remove the stubborn shards, I start to drag the bedclothes back into their rightful place, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed...

The bangle John bought me, slips to the floor, as I pull the comforter...I must have still been holding it when I fell asleep...

I slip it around my wrist, running my finger over the embossed words...

A yawn reminds me of my intended destination, and I head into bed for a couple more hours slumber...

I don't sleep very well, but I persevere, and am glad to get a little more rest, but when John rings to make sure I don't oversleep; I am already showered, sipping some coffee...

I am sitting outside the courtroom by 8:32am...

Barba isn't that far behind me, immediately making his way over to the bench I'm perched on...

He is perfectly dressed, as always, his impeccably tailored suit, offset by a flamboyant shirt and tie; he looks so in control...so confident...

 _"How are you this morning?"_ he asks softly.

 _"Scared..."_ I admit...

He meets my eye, nodding understandingly, before repeating his assurance that the case is far from lost...

 _"Do you plan on sitting-in while the Doctor and Forensic Tech give evidence?"_ he asks me quietly.

I nod my head; _"I though I could sit in on everything once my testimony has finished?"_

 _"You can...and I understand why you may want to...but the medical evidence of your injuries, and the forensic evidence may be upsetting..."_ he says carefully...

 _"More upsetting than **him** claiming I wanted what **he** did...?" _ I ask genuinely...

 _"It can be..."_ he says with a frown... _"It can be difficult to hear, and see pictures of where **fluids** were recovered from...to hear injuries described graphically...even to see clothing that reminds you..."_

He allows his words to tail off...I hadn't considered that my clothes would be shown...of course; they would have to be...

What if the damage to the fastenings isn't as bad as I remember it?

What if my choice of clothing, the skinny jeans rather than my regular looser boot-cut ones, cause the jury to think less of me?

What if the brightly colored underwear and bra, that made me feel more feminine, looks **slutty** , in the clear plastic bag I saw them being stuffed into at the hospital?

I swallow deeply _..."I hadn't thought about that..."_ I admit gently _..."...but I think I need to know...to hear all of it..."_

He scowls slightly, but nods. _"Lieutenant Benson will be with you! She can answer most questions for you, but I am here too..."_

I smile nervously at him, _"That means more than you can know..."_ I whisper gratefully.

It is just past 8:40am as he stands, and Olivia walks towards us, _"Good Morning!"_ she says to me with a soft smile, _"Counselor!"_ she directs towards Barba.

He answers her with a curt _"Lieutenant!"_ before he makes his way into the courtroom.

 _"How are you?"_ Olivia asks, as she pulls off her coat, sitting down beside me.

 _"Yesterday was hard!"_ I admit, _"Much harder than I expected..."_

She nods lightly.

 _"Barba says the medical and forensic evidence can be really difficult?"_ I say as I gesture into the courtroom after the man.

 _"It can be..."_ she agrees.

 _"I want to try..."_ I whisper nervously...

She just nods her agreement; _"I can sit with you today, if you would like?"_

I can't help my eager acceptance...immediately feeling less, alone...

 _"John is due to testify today...?"_ I add, biting my lip...

 _"It will probably be after lunch..."_ she confirms softly...

 _"I promised him, that after he testifies, we can talk...about **it**..."_ I say hesitantly.

She cocks her head to one side questioningly, but not interrupting...

 _"I think I need to talk to him...and maybe, as you said, he needs to talk to me?"_ I muse... _"He has been so good to me...and I can't do it alone..."_

She nods with another small smile...

 _"Do you think Detective Fin might be around tomorrow, or the next day...if...John...needs...wants...to talk to him?"_ I finally push out.

 _"We'll both be here until the trial is finished"_ she says softly, _"We are still on duty, but when a case goes to trial, we always try to leave the primary Detectives, free for court...the rest of the squad take new cases...so unless there is an emergency, we should both be here...and if we are called away, we will be back, as soon as possible..."_

 _"Thank you"_ I say with tears in my eyes...

John comes in and takes a seat on the other side of me, smiling broadly but not pulling me into a hug, as we had agreed the night before.

Just before 8:50am, Fin has taken his place on the other side of John, smiling and gently patting my shoulder as he passed by...

Olivia asks if I'm ready to go in...as my eyes dart to the clock, trying once more to postpone the inevitable...just a little longer...

I look to John; _"I know it's supposed to be after lunch...but just in case..."_ I begin, as the Defense stride by...

Olivia places a supportive hand on my shoulder, and once again I can't help the feeling that I have been kicked in the gut...it feels like **his** presence has sucked the air out of my body...and my stomach turns over, and over...

I won't close my eyes, not when **he** is so near...but I focus on my breathing, telling myself _"I'm safe, he can't hurt me..."_ until the worst passes...

 _"In case..."_ I whisper to John, wanting to push the words out... _"I'll be here when you are done...the truth, is all I expect from you...don't try to protect me...Good Luck...and **thank you**!"_

I stand up with Olivia, and meet his eyes once more, he is swallowing down his own fear, and tears are dancing in the corners of his eyes, as he nods back at me...

I walk into the courtroom for the second day, my reluctance to walk through the doors, has not diminished...I stay to Olivia's right, keeping her strategically, between me and the Defense, as I sit into a seat behind Barba...

Barely a minute later the Judge enters, calling proceedings to order...

She flicks through some paperwork, before she looks to my lawyer...

_"Mr. Barba?"_

_"Good Morning your Honor, I would like to start by calling Doctor Ali Taylor"_

For a moment I can't help the sinking realization that I didn't see the doctor who treated me outside...what if she isn't here?

But the door opens and a woman enters, striding through the gallery to the stand...

I watch the woman, wondering to myself, who this is...she looks nothing like the woman who treated me...

I can't help looking around...but everyone else seems to be at ease, with the woman sitting into the witness stand...

I try to tell myself that the woman before me, is dressed...she is in a fitted pencil skirt, a tailored blouse...her red hair is hanging in loose curls around her face...she is tastefully made up...the doctor I saw **that** night was probably, in hospital scrubs...her hair was probably, pulled back...she had, perhaps, already worked 12 hours...she most likely, wore little make-up... **that's** why the woman before me is so unfamiliar...

But I'm loath to admit, even to myself...that this woman looks nothing like the doctor I remember...

A chill shakes my body...I was so sure...I **was**...but if I got this wrong...if I don't even recognize this woman...if I got the mental image, the description of the doctor, so wrong...what else did I get wrong?

As Barba starts to question her, their words are almost incomprehensible to me, even as I watch their lips move...all I can concentrate on, are her hands...all I can do, is remember her touch...

I remember how kindly she tried to speak to me, how gentle she tried to be...how she and Olivia, tried so hard, to make the unbearable exam...manageable...but all I can remember is the feel of her hands...

The light touch, that felt like it was searing my skin...

As I try to swallow back the memory, to calm myself...I can't help reflecting on how some details are crisp and clear, undimmed by the intervening months, almost as if it all happened only yesterday...but some details were hazy, shrouded in indistinctness, almost before they finished happening...

Like this doctor, the woman who spent... **hours**...in a room with me, a woman who was kind and did all she could, to help me...but yet her face...was little more than a blank canvas...her presence somehow, completely overriding, any recollection of her physical characteristics...

I try to tune into the exchange between Barba and the doctor, just in time to hear him question how some of my _"injuries were almost, textbook examples of forced sexual contact injuries?"_

_"There were contusions, **bruises** , on her wrists, her neck, that spoke to some level of restraint...there were bruises on her inner thighs, where there had clearly been some force used to spread her legs...there was some external bruising around her genital region and some bruising, some mild tearing where she was penetrated before her body was ready for that intrusion...these are all injuries we associate with forcible rape..."_

I can barely breathe, as she describes, all too well, how I came by the injuries she is showing the jury on the screen...I close my eyes tight, as I see the pictures of my thighs...I don't know if she will show the more intimate bruises, but I don't want to know...squeezing my eyes shut, I desperately try to stem the tears bursting out regardless of my will...

_"The patient also had abrasions to her back, legs and buttocks, from her skin being rubbed against the concrete flooring..."_

I turn my head away, even though my eyes are still squeezed shut, unwilling to be faced with the images...

Olivia takes my hand, patting it lightly, trying to soothe me...with a few softly whispered assurances of _"It's ok..." and "she's nearly done..."_

I hear Barba's voice ask, _"Could the patient tell you how she came by those abrasions?"_

 _"She reluctantly confirmed my deductions, that as her attacker penetrated her, the force of his action was such, that her body was pushed away from him...and she also confirmed that her skin was forced into contact with the concrete as she struggled against him...she described feeling the concrete scraping her, burning her..."_ the doctor tells him.

Barba allows a moment for this image to build in the jury's heads before he switches the subject back to safer ground, asking about the concussion...

I allow my tensed body to relax slightly, slowly re-opening my eyes...

 _"There was evidence of swelling, a lump, on the back of her head, and she presented with a headache, describing a feeling that everything was slightly in slow motion, she was nauseas..."_ the woman replies...

 _"Thank you Doctor..."_ Barba says retaking his seat...

I unconsciously brace my body as Buchanan gets to his feet...

 _"Concussion can cause memory loss, can't it Doctor?"_ he asks.

_"A **mild** concussion may cause momentary lapses in recollection...but not a whole event such as the patient described, very clearly, to the detective..."_

Buchanan looks to the jury, as if he doubts the answer _..."And Doctor, can you tell if the patient hit her head once, or multiple times?"_

 _"Not definitively..."_ the doctor admits reluctantly...

_"So it could have happened that the **patient** hit her head as the sexual contact she was engaged in, was physically interrupted?"_

_"The patient hit her head and suffered a mild concussion..."_ the doctor restates but Buchanan is clearly not finished...

_"And much as you can't **definitively** tell us whether the patient suffered only one blow to the head...you also can't **definitively** tell us, how she came to acquire the bruising to her thighs, her wrists...the abrasions to her back... can you?"_

_"The bruising was caused by pressure to the patient's skin..."_ the doctor begins to explain...

_"But **you** can't say if my client and your patient had been engaged in rough but **consensual** , sexual activity...You can't say if **she** had asked my client to restrain her? Or if she had enjoyed him being rough with her?... You can't say if the less gentle, intercourse actually increased her sexual pleasure? The bruises from being restrained as part of a sexual **game** , would look the same...wouldn't they Doctor?"_

_"I suppose..."_ the woman is forced to admit...

 _"And a cause of the mild vaginal bruising and tearing you described, could also be **exuberant** consensual, if a little rough, sexual activity, couldn't it?"_ he continues, leaning back against the jury box...

_"It is evidence that the patient's body wasn't adequately prepared for the penetration...there wasn't enough lubrication...and that the penetration was most likely not gentle"_

_"So they skipped some... **foreplay**...?"_ he asks in disbelief...

 _"Your Honor!"_ Barba bellows...

 _"Withdrawn!"_ Buchanan says before the judge can intervene...

_"Doctor, in your time in the ER, have you ever seen people seeking treatment for injuries such as the ones you have described, acquired through sexual experimentation?"_

_"Yes, sex injuries are a regular occurrence in any busy ER...but it's the concurrence of all the injuries, at the same time, in the same patient, that would give us cause for concern in this patient..."_

_"So your diagnosis is very subjective...is it not Doctor?...All you can really confirm, is that the patient had been engaged in sexual activity...And that there were some **minor** injuries incurred during that sexual activity, activity that both my client and your patient confirm took place ...Then you have to take her word for the circumstances...?"_ he asks...

_"Her **affect**...also matched with her story...her emotions, her level of upset, her explanations for the injuries, were all in line with her story..."_

Once again, I tune out the words being cast around, no longer able to stomach them...Buchanan has basically told the jury that I was so eager to have sex, that I didn't notice the pain...or worse, that I liked it, that I actually wanted that pain, that it turned me on...I can't help thinking that the jury are now picturing me as the star of some BDSM style, rough sex-capade, like the ones we have all seen online...

Buchanan's claims that I wanted rough sex, had sounded so far-fetched at the beginning...like, who would really want 'rough sex' at work?...but now as the details are being filled out...I'm not so sure anymore...

Maybe 'rough sex' brought forward certain images in my mind, but the scenario he is painting doesn't seem so implausible...

_"A man and a woman searching out a quiet corner, for a tantalizingly forbidden 'quickie'; the woman asking her partner to 'fuck her now...there isn't much time...', the man quickly and eagerly complying...holding her hands down as she moves under him..."_

I can imagine this scenario all too clearly...as I'm sure the jury can...How many of them **haven't** , at some stage, come away from a passionate sexual encounter with a few bruises of their own? How many of them haven't enjoyed their partner taking control...holding their hands back, to tease them...?

Maybe Barba was right...this is too much...

As Buchanan throws more questions at the doctor I block him out...concentrating on my breathing, trying to get through until the witness is dismissed, so I can slip out of the courtroom, with less fuss...

I saw that people moved around yesterday, as one witness was dismissed and another called...my departure will be a lot less noticeable if I can wait...so I sit there...trying to hold my emotions in... trying not to listen...until the red haired woman starts to get to her feet... and then I flee, as slowly, and as dignified, as I can possibly manage...

Once I break through the doors of the courtroom I head straight for the bathrooms I had looked towards, with such longing, yesterday morning...still trying to walk, not run...until the outer door of the restrooms starts to swing shut behind me...and I let my feet propel me faster towards the porcelain bowl, dropping to my knees as I reach my goal...

I quickly empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl, tears flowing freely as I lean over the toilet...

I had only barely pulled the cubicle door closed, so when Olivia, makes her way into the restroom behind me, and taps lightly on the door, it swings open...

She calls my name softly, making sure I know who is standing there, as she leans down, softly rubbing my back, pulling my hair out of the way...

When there is nothing left to throw up, I close the toilet lid; flushing it...Olivia silently wets a few paper towels, handing them to me...

The cold water feels good against the flaming skin of my face...

 _"Thank you..."_ I mutter, _"Barba was right...It's too much...I can't listen to the forensic guy..."_ I whisper in shame...

 _"It's ok..."_ she tells me softly...holding out her hand...

I nod at her, letting her help me up off the floor and head to the washbasins.

I wash my hands thoroughly, splashing the cold water onto my face again...as if the liquid can magically wash away the dirt I feel once more, clinging to my skin...before taking the dry paper towels she offers me...

She is not pushing, but I can see she wants me to talk to her...

 _"Buchanan is smart. He is just slowly chipping away...offering alternatives, questioning findings...he isn't even telling a story, not really...he's just questioning mine..."_ I whisper

She bites her lip, not wanting to confirm my assessment, but all too aware it isn't too far from the truth...

 _"And Barba can't attack his story, if he hasn't told it yet..."_ I realize suddenly...not even needing the confirmation of an answer...

My head is pounding, from the constant crying, the vomiting, and the stress...

 _"I'd like to wait with John...he's next after the forensics guy, isn't he?"_ I say quietly.

 _"That is Barba's plan..."_ she replies.

 _"I'm sure he's in a state..."_ I mumble, thinking back to how interminable my wait was, only yesterday... _"I know we need to be careful, I just want to be **there**...after all the times he has been there for me..."_

I look to the mirror, pulling my hairbrush from my bag, flattening my hair down...my eyes are red, it is clear I've been crying...but there is little I can do about it now, not willing to waste time trying to conceal it with make-up, when I know I can't hide it...

The Band-Aid I put on my cut hand is now soaked, and I pull a fresh one from my bag...

 _"What happened to your hand?"_ she asks...

I had tried not to let her see it earlier, hiding it under the coat I nervously held, not wanting to have to explain the wound, but I remember my promise to myself...

_"I fell asleep last night, on the couch, with John...and he covered me, turned off the lights, and locked up before leaving...I woke up, from a nightmare...and broke a glass...it's not deep...but I barely felt it..."_

She looks slightly worried as I begin, but the frown eases slightly as I admit the numbness...

 _"You can't keep it all inside"_ she tells me gently, _"It's too much..."_

 _"I know..."_ I whisper... _"I'm going to group this week, no matter how tired I am...and I'm going to speak to John..."_

 _"And you can speak to me too..."_ she reminds me.

As I turn to her, she rubs my arm gently, smiling softly... _"It takes a lot of strength to admit it is too much...and I'm sure John will be very glad to have you wait with him..."_

I try to take her words on board as I head back out...


	24. Discovery

_"You can't keep it all inside"_ she tells me gently, _"It's too much..."_

 _"I know..."_ I whisper... " _I'm going to group this week, no matter how tired I am...and I'm going to speak to John..."_

 _"You can speak to me too..."_ she reminds me.

As I turn to her, she rubs my arm gently, smiling softly... _"It takes a lot of strength to admit it is too much...and I'm sure John will be very glad to have you wait with him..."_

I try to take her words on board, as I head back out...

Skulking out to the bench I never wanted to find myself on again, I now find a modicum of comfort in the hard seat, when my body drops down onto it. John shuffles slightly, beside me, as if he were trying to find a better position...but once he settles again, I realize he has moved so that his leg is against mine...

The small physical contact, is his way of telling me he is there...and when my face lifts, I see he is watching me intently...

 _"Are you ok?"_ he asks quietly...

I can't help my gaze dropping, and my cheeks burning as I whisper back, _"It was too hard...listening...hearing..."_

I shake my head, unable to vocalize the distress that had caused me to flee the courtroom, but he seems to understand...his hand squeezes my forearm lightly, patting it...

_"You were so unbelievably brave to even try..."_

His words feel hollow...almost as if they are an obvious untruth, until I allow myself to really look at him...

He is pale, his forehead clearly clammy...the hand that had been on my arm falls back down to his lap, the thumb of each appendage stroking the exposed fingers of the fists his hands have balled into...He pushes out a deep breath in an obvious attempt to control his anxiety...

 _"Waiting is hard..."_ I tell him, wanting to empathize, without inadvertently, increasing the tension he is clearly, already feeling...

He nods his head with a gulp...

I wish that I could throw my arms around him, but we both know that all our interactions are a risk...so I settle for lightly bumping his shoulder, and earn myself a soft, rueful, smile.

 _"I'm sorry... **I'm** supposed to be supporting **you**..."_ he mutters apologetically...

 _"Nah, we're friends..."_ I correct him, _"...because we support each other..."_

This time his smile is looser, more heartfelt...

 _"I'm so nervous..."_ he admits sheepishly...

I don't know that there are any words that can calm his nerves, and I know, all too well, how difficult the task before him is...so we just sit side by side, our legs resting comfortably together...

When the large wooden door opens for the forensic scientist to exit, we both gasp audibly...it was too quick...something must have gone horribly wrong...

But Olivia quickly draws my attention to the flood of people exiting the room, and the time...

 _"Court must have adjourned for lunch..."_ she whispers when she sees Barba walking towards us...

Again the lawyer insists that things are going ok...I nod, not completely convinced, but grateful to hear the words nonetheless...

This time, neither John or myself are hungry, as we sit quietly over coffee, that only seems to increase our nervousness and queasiness, in the same sandwich shop we spent yesterday's lunch break in...

The stakes seem even higher today, and the break is less of a relief, less of an escape...instead turning into yet another waiting period that must just be gotten through...

I'm almost glad when the time comes, to return to the courthouse, and we make our way back to the dreaded bench in the hallway...

As the doors close, it feels hard to remember that every moment brings me a step closer to the end of this torture...as I try not to imagine the pictures and evidence the jury is being presented with...

We haven't spoken a word since lunch, but when the forensic scientist strides from the court again, John gasps...

 _"We can talk after...?"_ he asks, rattled that his summons to the stand is now imminent...

I meet his eye, a silent nod the only answer I can force out...

The court officer steps into the hallway, calling John's name...

His gaze never leaves mine as he pulls himself off the seat...

I mirror his actions, trying to find my last reserves of strength to make my legs comply with my demands...

 _"We can talk..."_ I echo back... _"And John, **thank you**...no matter what... **thank you** so much..."_

I can see him choke back the emotion my words bring forward...and I curse my bad timing...but I'm not sure I could have made him understand at a less emotional moment...

He grips my shoulder for a moment, my hand clasping his arm in return, for a very brief second, before he sucks in a final breath and moves forward...

Both Fin and Olivia are on their feet, looking to me for their cue, as I nod tightly, stepping quickly towards the open door...

Fin leads us into an empty seat behind Barba, whispering, " _You're not on your own..."_ as Olivia slips silently, in on my other side.

John raises his hand, clearing his throat before announcing confidently _"I do!"_ as the court officer swears him in...

I'm slightly envious that with every step he took toward the witness stand, he seemed to grow in confidence, whereas my stumble towards the same goal had sucked the last semblances of self-belief that had managed to make it through the interminable wait, from me...

I don't even question that the strong, seemingly unshakeable, man in the witness stand, is anything **but** what he seems...

Barba greets him softly, as he comes to stand beside the jury once more.

 _"Can you tell us what you saw?"_ he asks simply.

John takes a breath, shifting his gaze to the jury, apparently sizing up each and every man and woman, as he begins...

_"We loaded our equipment into the venue as we usually would...the main build was underway so we were asked to keep anything we were not immediately using, in the storage area, so we wouldn't cause obstructions. All the companies were doing the same so there was a constant flow of traffic between the storage area and the main work area...We were beginning the second phase of our build, and I went back into the storage area to try to find a missing case while my colleagues searched all the other cases...The main area wasn't quiet, there was the usual sounds of machinery, forklifts, compressors for tools, the sound of cases being moved around, shouting...storage was quieter...not silent, it was too close to the main area to be quiet, but it was a lot calmer when we weren't moving large amounts of gear in and out...there were lulls of calm, in between phases...most of the equipment had already been moved out, and the empties from the first phase were already in place in storage, so when I went in search of a missing case it was during a lull..."_

He is painting a picture of the situation, he is clear, confident, he is probably very much as Barba had prepared him to be...

_"The storage area was about four times the size of the courtroom...and each company had unofficially, staked out an area for their gear, to keep it separate...a lot of it was stacked, for tidiness, when the boxes were empty...so in amongst the room there were numerous quiet, blocked off bits...Once I walked in, I could hear...pained little cries...whimpers...I tried to isolate where the sound was coming from..."_

The slightly increased tempo of his sucked-in breaths is the only indicator that this is getting difficult for him...

_"It was coming from close to my company's equipment, and I recognized the company branding...the noises became less indistinct, the closer I got...I could hear 'no...no!' being repeated...I could hear what sounded like a struggle...the voice became clearly female...as the pleas became louder..."_

He is no longer looking towards Barba, or the jury...he is focused on a spot on the floor in front of the stand, as he transports himself back...

_"As far as I was aware, there was only one woman on-site...and the area the sounds were coming from, was in amongst her equipment..."_

The subtle clues of just how difficult this is for him, are multiplying...now when he pauses, his teeth worry his bottom lip...

_"She is well able to handle herself...I didn't think for a second that she would need help...but I needed to know she wasn't hurt...that something hadn't fallen on her...so I tried to find her..."_

This time when his words trail off, there doesn't seem to be any immediate sign of him picking up his monologue, so Barba carefully prompts him...

_"Did you find her?"_

John looks up at the lawyer, nodding bitterly...

_"I did...for a second I couldn't process what I saw...I stopped dead...I couldn't...say anything...couldn't move..."_

I can feel his distress, as he seems to relive the experience...

_"I saw a man...on top of her...the only thing I could see to confirm her identity was the blonde hair that would become visible as she tried to fight him...I saw his arm pull back, and heard the sound of the blow as he hit her...I saw him lift some of his weight up and heard the thump, as he smashed her down..."_

I can see how conflicted he is, as his eyes search me out...

_"His pants...were clearly open...they were pushed down a bit...so the waistband sat loosely across his butt...I started to realize that the legs that could be seen, weren't his...they were either side of him...they were bare...the jeans almost turned inside out, caught on her feet..."_

He keeps lowering his gaze, but he can't seem to stop it finding its way back to me...

I can see tears in his eyes as I hold my breath...

_"He was...moving...against her..."_

_"What do you mean by 'moving'?"_ Barba immediately clarifies...and I struggle not to hate him for forcing me to face this...

John takes a couple of visible attempts at words...but they fail him...his lips seemingly unable to call forward sound...

I'm not sure when it happened...but my face is soaked...tears have clearly been flowing down my cheeks this whole time...and Olivia is once more, holding my hand tightly...

 _"He was...thrusting...into her..."_ he finally manages to force out...his voice wavering...

 _"He was sexually penetrating her?"_ Barba questions...

John nods his head reluctantly, a very soft, barely audible, _"yes"..._

 _"What made you think that you hadn't just interrupted a consensual sexual encounter?"_ Barba persists, and it takes everything in me, not to bolt to my feet and plead with him to stop...to just make it all stop...

Olivia seems to understand as she starts to whisper soft words to try and comfort me, but they make little impact against the horror playing out in front of me...

As he looks up at the lawyer who has stepped closer to him, tears are rolling down John's cheeks...

_"The sounds!...She kept saying 'No!'... and he was clearly hurting her...I could see his movements were...very rough...he pulled his hips back...and the force he pushed forward with...actually moved her whole body...there was a loud...I don't know how to describe it; a hard **smack**...it sounded like he had hit her...and she was sobbing ... pleading 'no'...when he pushed forward...the sound she made was horrible...a guttural cry of pain, so deep...it was a wail...of agony..."_

Barba has placed himself directly in front of the witness stand; I can no longer see the tears rolling down John's face...

_"Was it only the sounds that told you this was **not** a consensual encounter?"_

_"No..."_ I barely recognize John's voice anymore; it is thick with upset and tears... _"...he was holding her down...she was trying to get away..."_

There's another pause...his voice losing strength as he continues...

_"He told her that he didn't care how hard she fought him...it would make no difference..."_

The words I don't remember make me feel threatened, even as I sit between two police officers.

The voice delivering them morphs from John's into **his**...as I pull my hand away from Olivia...

The threat is too familiar...too reminiscent of threats made long ago...

I curl my body around the bag I clutch in my lap...desperate to escape the hands I'm sure I can feel grabbing at me...

Olivia seems to instinctively know that I need some physical space, as she scoots further along the bench...

 _"It's ok...it's not happening now...you're safe..."_ she whispers...but in the background I can still hear John...

_"As I moved, I could see her shirt...was torn...his hand was wrapped around her neck...it felt like forever, but it had only been seconds...I had to stop him...I ran at him, tackled him...managed to knock him off her..."_

I don't want to hear anymore...as images of the past fill my head...my body struggling to change the outcome of a story that has already been written...my hands have curled into fists, the muscles of my legs tense, ready to fight and flee...

_"He was surprised...he didn't seem to know anyone was there...he started to curse at me..."_

For me, the story ended here...but John is still talking...

_"He gestured to her...she was trying to cover herself...but I could see cuts...bruises...as she tried to pull the remains of her shirt down...he told me 'You can have her, she isn't hardly worth it anyway'..."_

The words, though unremembered, are oddly familiar...like they are something from an indistinct dream...but much as I try to tune them out, as I had successfully done earlier, when the doctor's testimony had overwhelmed me, I can't stop John's words, anymore than I could stop what **he** did...

_"... he was still hard...his...penis... still sticking out...He just started to casually redress...like it was nothing...I was right beside him so I kneed him...as hard as I could...and punched him in the face, once... **That shut him up**...He was wheezing and groaning, in a ball...When I looked back over, she was pulling her jeans up, so I looked away for a second...the jeans wouldn't seem to close, she was holding them...I took off my hoody and went to put it around her shoulders...she thought I was trying to hurt her...she flinched...pleaded with me 'not to...'..."_

There is no hiding the pain he is feeling now, it is all too evident in his quivering voice...

_"I tried to tell her I wouldn't hurt her...but I don't think she could believe me...until I moved away...she took the hoody...pulling it on...but she still clasped it to her, even when it was zipped up...as if she was afraid...When she was covered up, she tried to stand...she was really unsteady...she just wanted to leave...to get away from **him**...She was terrified...I mentioned calling the police...but she was too scared...she just wanted to leave...she was very obviously in pain...I told her I'd help her get to a doctor...she didn't want to, she just wanted to get away...but even though she tried, she couldn't walk very well, every sob caused her to wince in pain...and she was holding one of her wrists very gingerly...I knew that she was hurt a lot worse then the cuts and bruises I had seen, so I pointed to her wrist, it was marked, and I suggested it needed an x-ray, I pointed to the bruise coming up on her face...she didn't say no!...So I told her my car was only outside the door...I think she only agreed to me bringing her to get medical attention, because it meant she could get away..."_

Olivia is still whispering softly to me, but it does nothing to stop the never-ending flow of tears, interspersed by quiet sobs...

_"She wouldn't let me touch her, she flinched away from me if I stood too close...but she slowly moved towards the door I had pointed to... **He** started hissing " **you** wanted **rough**...you little **slut** "...I wanted to go back and kick the shit out of him...but she tried to run, to get out... **she** needed help...so I left with her..."_

I had no idea...

I didn't know how much he had seen...

I didn't realize how hard I had been to deal with...how much it must have hurt him, to have me refuse his help...how devastating it must have been for him to have stopped the man hurting me, only for me to show my gratitude in distrust, and pulling away...

_"So you brought her to the hospital?" Barba prompts gently..._

_"I did..."_ John confirms, " _she didn't really want to go...she just wanted to go home...but we were very close to a hospital and when she got into my car she kind of leaned up against the door, tears were still rolling down her face, I could see bruising around her neck, she seemed to be in shock...so I ignored her requests to just bring her back to her car...I drove her to the hospital..."_

I now, understand so much better, why he was so afraid of me hearing this...I try to tell myself he only wanted to help me, that he was looking after me...but I can't help feeling that he took advantage of the state I was in, to force me to do **something else** I didn't want to do...

I know that he meant well, that he cares...but the admission that he ignored my requests to let me go home turns my stomach...

When I raise my head, he is staring directly at me...like he knows the damage he may have done, by this disclosure...

I want to reassure my friend, the man who has been so good to me...but instead my head just drops down again as Barba asks yet another probing question...

_"So you've already told us, there was very little discussion between you, on the journey to the hospital, what happened once you arrived there?_

I can only assume that John is still looking to me, because there is no answer.

Barba repeats the question, calling his name to ensure he has recaptured John's attention...

_"Ehmmm, once we arrived, we went to the desk in the ER to check in... she still wasn't very steady on her feet, so I stayed with her...the man behind the desk, the receptionist, asked for some details, but she didn't answer...the man looked at the bruising on her face, her neck, and asked her very gently, if someone had hurt her...she nodded after a moment or two...the man told us he needed to take her name, so she could see a doctor ...She didn't seem to be able to talk, she was visibly shaking, so I asked if I could fill out the essential details for her...the man looked to her, and when she didn't object, I gave her name and as many details as I knew...When I explained what brought us there, the man didn't seem to be quite as suspicious of me anymore...Very quickly, a nurse arrived to lead us to a quieter area, where I was shown to a waiting room...as I sat there, I really started to realize what had happened...I had seen her being **raped**...I knew it needed to be reported to the police, so I called 911..."_

_"So, at no time did you discuss what had happened? At no time did she try to influence your perception of what you had witnessed?"_ Barba persists...

 _"No! She was barely talking...barely responding in any way...I tried to ask about her injuries...but she didn't answer...I could only guess where she was feeling pain from the way she moved..."_ John whispers...

The lawyer allows a now familiar pause, for John's last words to take effect, consulting notes on his desk before continuing...

_"How well did you know Mr. Smith before that day?"_

_"Not well...I knew **of** him...I knew a version of what he had done...that she was afraid of him...that he had the reputation for being a 'dick' but..."_

_"Your Honour!"_ Buchanan bellows... _"the witness cannot substantiate that claim!"_

 _"Agreed Mr. Buchanan!"_ the judge declares, instructing John to restrict himself to things he has direct knowledge of...

Barba immediately changes the question, eager to make his intended point _..."So you had no reason to hold any type of personal grudge against Mr. Smith?"_

_"No..."_

Barba asks a few more simple questions, but none of them really interest me...I sit in my seat, almost oblivious to the comfort Olivia is trying to provide me...until she asks if I want to leave...I can only shake my head vehemently...as Buchanan steps up to the witness stand.


	25. John

Barba asks a few more simple questions, but none of them really interest me...I sit in my seat, almost oblivious to the comfort Olivia is trying to provide me...until she asks if I want to leave...I can only shake my head vehemently...as Buchanan steps up to the witness stand.

 _"You claim to have heard a **version** of what had previously transpired...and you would have classed yourself as **friendly** with the woman who made the accusations against my client?"_ Buchanan asks softly, his disbelief already evident in his understated words...

_"We didn't socialize outside of work, but yes, we were friendly...and I used the word 'version' because I heard most of the details from third parties, all I heard directly from her, about what **he** did previously, was that he had 'hurt' her, and that she didn't want to be left alone on site with him..."_

I watch Buchanan's face twist in confusion...

_"But yet you had no worries about her safety?"_

John seems to shrink under the subtle accusation...

 _"Surely if you really believed her, you would have been concerned for her?"_ the lawyer continues...

Despite how little we have really discussed **this**...I am aware that John feels immense guilt for not understanding the very real danger I faced...and Buchanan is very consciously, playing on that guilt...

_"Even though I knew he had hurt her before, I never thought for a second she was still in danger from him ...I've never spoken to her again, about what happened all those years ago, but I never doubted that he hurt her...I suppose I didn't understand...I assumed he had learned to leave her alone..."_

_"So you thought she was being overly dramatic?"_ Buchanan interprets...

 _"NO!"_ John fires back... _"She always **understates** injuries and any bad experiences, if anything. I understood she was afraid of him, I felt that fear was earned, valid...I just didn't think he would be stupid enough to ever hurt her again...especially not when we were all so close...I just didn't understand..."_

The words have barely left his mouth, and he can see he has said something he shouldn't have...

 _"It would be **extremely stupid** of my client to hurt her...wouldn't it?”_ Buchanan says more to the jury than to the witness...

John tries to salvage it... _" **But he did...** "_

Buchanan will not be bested though, _"Or so she says...you didn't see the beginning of this 'encounter' did you?"_

John reluctantly admits that he didn't...

_"You also, can't say **for certain** , that she didn't ask for, or enjoy, the encounter...?"_

_"She was crying, and injured..."_ John counters quickly...

 _"When she saw she had an audience to play to..."_ Buchanan mutters, immediately withdrawing the comment as Barba begins to object...

 _"Have **you** ever had sexual contact with the woman in question?"_ the defense lawyer demands coldly...

John is visibly shocked by the question, _"No!"_

_"So you have no idea if the sounds you heard her make, were in fact, sounds of enjoyment...sounds of pleasure...?"_

_"She was saying 'No!'..."_ John says incredulously...

_"But was that 'No' actually a request for my client **not** to stop pleasuring her...?"_

John can only gape at the lawyer...open mouthed...

_"You've always had a soft spot for her, haven't you?"_

John looks to Barba, taking a deep breath before answering, and I can only guess that this is something that my lawyer had predicted, as John answers...

_"I'm not sure what you mean by that, but we are friends, I've always admired her...we work in a very male industry, but yet she wins everyone's respect by not asking for any special treatment, by treating everyone well, by caring about people without being 'soft'...she's very good at what she does and is well liked and respected..."_

_"You spend a lot of time with her, are you sexually attracted to her?"_ Buchanan asks quickly...

Barba is immediately on his feet, _"Your Honor! That is completely irrelevant!"_

Buchanan counters, _"No your Honor, it's not...the witness' feelings towards the person on whose behalf he is testifying, are very germane..."_

Again Barba retorts, _"Your Honor, the witness is not testifying on anyone's **behalf** he is merely testifying to what he witnessed..."_

Not to be outdone Buchanan persists, _"But the context of what he saw is clearly colored by his perception...his feelings for the..."_

 _"Enough! Counselors!"_ the judge admonishes both men, _"Mr. Barba I will allow the question. Mr. Buchanan tread carefully...!"_

 _"Are you sexually attracted to her?"_ Buchanan repeats...

 _"She is an attractive woman..."_ John tries to crawl out of the question...

 _"You didn't answer the question; are **you** sexually attracted to her?"_ the defense attorney repeats with some impatience...

I won't look at him, but I can feel John's eyes on me...

 _"Yes..."_ he reluctantly admits...

Once again, his words cause me to question everything...I had felt so comfortable with this man...I had never felt threatened...I had never felt like he was seeing me as anything other than a friend...

I try not panic as I consider all the times, he held me...all the time I spent alone with him...all the times I trusted him...

I can't even begin to reconcile the idea that he could have been considering me as a potential bedmate...

It feels like a huge betrayal...like this fact has changed everything he has done for me...

 _"So you would be bothered by her choosing to have sex with another man?"_ Buchanan probes mercilessly...

 _"No! She has no interest in me!"_ John answers a little too fast...

_"But it would make you more open to believing she had been **forced** into the sexual activity you interrupted, rather than she was enjoying a risky 'quickie'...?"_

Again John is quick to refute the claim, but his gullibility has probably already been established, in at least some of the juror's minds...

_"You were very clear in telling us, the sight of my client's naked and erect penis enraged you...so enraged you, that you assaulted him?"_

_"Because I witnessed him raping her..."_ John insists...

 _"Or because you witnessed a man doing what **you** wanted to do...having exuberant sex with the woman **you** were attracted to...?"_ Buchanan pushes...

_"That wasn't sex! That was **rape**!"_

_"Why? Because he wasn't whispering sweet nothings to her, as you would...?"_ the lawyer taunts...

 _"No!"_ John snaps, his anger finally flooding out in his venom laced words, _"...because he was holding her down, ignoring her pleas for him to stop, hurting her..."_

 _"Or he was giving her exactly what she wanted, a break from being the in-control, respected, leader you describe...he was pleasuring her in a way that she was pleading with him **not** to stop...holding her down as she asked him to...pushing into her harder, faster...as she had been demanding only moments before..."_ the defense attorney insists, all pretense at softness gone _..."How long did you watch my client having sex for... **before** you interrupted?"_

John thinks, _"It took a minute, maybe two...to process what I was watching...before I pushed him off her..."_

 _"A minute!...That's not very long to garner all the detail you described...unless you had approached the scene with an already set interpretation of anything you would see...You said you wanted to make sure that something hadn't fallen on her...isn't it true you approached the scene with the intention of being the 'white knight' coming to her aid? To try to make yourself a more desirable prospect...?"_ Buchanan goads...

 _"No!"_ John contradicts weakly...

_"But yet it was **you** , not the **alleged** victim who sought out medical help... **you** , once more, and not the **alleged** victim, who called the police...?"_

_"She was in shock, hurt...she didn't refuse the help...she just wasn't able to ask for it..."_ John says resolutely...

He really believes he is telling the truth...and I know he never meant to hurt me...but are his words really true?

Was it too hard to admit what had just been done to me? Was I already in denial, about the affect of the violation of my body, glad to have the difficulty of asking for help, taken from my overburdened shoulders... or had I made a decision on how I wanted to handle what I had been subjected to, that was ignored and cast aside in favor of what John felt was more suitable?

I have struggled with the feeling that this whole investigation was somehow beyond my control...that it didn't ever really feel like it was my choice...is that because the man on the witness stand **did** actually take that choice from me?

 _"She would have refused to be examined or interviewed if it wasn't what she wanted..."_ John continues...

The old me would have...there would have been no way I would have allowed something I didn't want...but the woman who hobbled into that hospital...whose hips felt like they had been wrenched out of their sockets, who felt like she couldn't even protect her own body...the woman who couldn't stop a man from stripping her and shoving his disgusting body into her... **she** just wanted it to be over... **she** grabbed the offer of redemption with both hands...wanting to prove that she **was** strong enough...that she **wasn't** weak... **she** took the challenge, battling the worry that she couldn't do it...without ever considering whether she actually wanted to do it...

Dave Smith raped me...but maybe my friend pushed me into **this**...?

 _"Or she couldn't think of any explanation as to why she was having sex with the man she had previously brought grievous charges against, other than to cry rape...and conveniently, **you** , the man who discovered her 'in flagrante delicto' were so blinded by your own attraction to her, you were very easily swayed to her version of events? Twisting what you saw to fit the narrative she provided...?"_ the lawyer finishes with a shaking head...

 _"No!"_ John persists, _"No! She gave me no **narrative** , I know what I saw..."_

As Buchanan heads back to his seat, I flee towards the exit, before the judge can discharge John, so I am not forced to come face to face with the man I promised to talk to...

Once more I take refuge in the only place none of the men I want so desperately, to avoid, can follow...the ladies restroom.

As always Olivia is only a few steps behind me... _"Talk to me?"_ she entreats softly...as I tuck myself into the corner, as far from the door as I can manage...

The last thing I want to do is talk, but yet the words tumble out of my mouth...

_"John ignored what I wanted...I didn't want **this**...it was never how I wanted to handle it...he pushed me into **this** torture..."_

_"Do you really feel that way?"_ she questions...

I nod quickly..." _All that time, in the hospital, I was battling the idea that I couldn't do it...I felt so weak...because I couldn't do it...but I never thought about whether I **wanted** to do it...John brought me to the hospital, when I didn't want to go...John called you...when I didn't want him to..."_

 _"I can understand that you didn't want to go to the hospital, or to have the police called...it's a horrible experience to go through, especially after what you had already suffered...but didn't **you** tell me, that you needed to know you were worth standing up for...and that's why you did what you thought you would never do...by allowing the rape exam and the complaint to be filed with the police?" _ Olivia asks with no hint of judgment... _"I can see why his words would make you angry. How it may feel like a betrayal, but he was right too, wasn't he, that somewhere inside you it made it that little bit easier, that you didn't have to make those decisions?"_

I hate that my head bobs up and down in answer, but she never allows me to feel embarrassed at the emotions that seem to constantly be in flux...

 _"When I was assaulted..."_ she tells me lightly, _"I was taken to the hospital when I was found...it wasn't a choice...neither was the involvement of my colleagues...they were the ones who found me...and I struggled with it for a very long time...I wished that I could have kept it all secret...that everyone didn't know...but the truth is I needed medical care...and even though I hated it, I wasn't capable of making my own choice in that moment...I guess I made my choice later...when I wouldn't accept a plea deal, and took my case to trial...Barba was **my** lawyer too...he was also my friend...and sometimes I hated him...but he was always there for me...as was my partner...and Fin..."_

 _"He ignored me pleading to just go home..."_ I sob bitterly...discarding the explanations to focus on what is causing my distress...

_"And now you question what else he would ignore your wishes on...?"_

That is the crux of my issue...what else is he capable of disregarding my wishes on?...

She waits in silence...until I can vocalize my fear...

_"He doesn't see me as a friend...what if he...?"_

_"He does see you as a friend! He **is** your friend! From everything I have seen, he just wants to be there for you...that hasn't changed! But I can understand the fear...despite what Buchanan is trying to convince the jury, you did not want what was done to you...you did nothing to suggest to Dave Smith that you wanted him to touch you..."_

She allows her words to sink in before continuing...

_"I **know** how scary it is to have someone see you as a sexual being, when that feels like a threat...to worry that every tiny action will be misinterpreted...that you will find yourself being hurt again..."_

Once more she has put her finger exactly on the feelings bubbling inside me...

_"But he is the same man that has been there for you...nothing has changed in him, except that you now know he finds you attractive...You told me you both promised to talk about his testimony...talk to him!...tell him how you feel betrayed...listen to him...I'd bet, he probably thought you already knew he found you attractive...and that he has accepted that you have no interest in him, but he is glad to have you as a friend..."_

The tears speed up at that prediction...

_"Nobody could be attracted to me...especially after seeing **that**..."_

This seems to give her pause... _"Are you attracted to him?"_

I shake my head. _"Maybe once, there was a possibility...but no! I just don't think I can trust him now...whether he meant to or not...he pushed me into something I didn't want to do...and he feels like more of a threat now..."_

 _"Has he changed in the last hours? Or have you?"_ she prompts thoughtfully...

 _"I don't know..."_ I admit _"But I don't want to talk to him...not now...he saw so much more than I thought..."_

She checks her watch, _"I'd be surprised if court is not adjourned for the day...let me take you home?"_

I gratefully accept the offer, knowing she will also help me deal with John...

I throw water on my puffy face before we step into the hallway...

John is sitting on the bench outside, waiting with Fin...

 _"I'm so sorry!"_ he rushes, as soon as he sees me...but the quiet detective puts a gentle hand on his arm...stopping him from running towards me...

 _"I didn't know...you saw... so much..."_ I mutter awkwardly...desperate to postpone the hardest discussion...

 _"I didn't..."_ he starts but once more Fin puts a calming hand on his arm, silently urging him to listen, rather than talk...so John immediately stops, nodding to me to continue...

 _"Buchanan twists everything..."_ I try to assure...but it seems we both know that Buchanan has little to do with the uneasiness that sits between us...

I slip into silence...

 _"I'm assuming we're adjourned for the day?"_ Olivia asks her partner, to which he simply nods.

 _"I'm going to drive her home..."_ she adds quickly.

This time John ignores the Detective's subtle reminder not to push _..."I can bring you home..."_

 _"I need some time..."_ I find myself pleading, hating the weakness I can hear in my voice... _"I know I promised we will talk...but I can't...not now...I need some time..."_

 _"What..."_ he starts, but the Detective clears his throat, silencing John once more...

 _"Can I call you later?"_ he says after a moment's hesitance...

I feel positively evil, as I tell him to leave it until tomorrow...and his face falls.

Olivia begins to guide me away, but I can't leave the man who has been so good to me, without a word...

_"I know today was really hard for you too...thank you...I just need some time..."_

He nods at me, _"But it changes things?"_ he asks quietly...

 _"But it changes things..."_ I echo reluctantly...

 _"Ok! I'm here if you want to talk...anytime..."_ he says, his voice breaking with emotion... _"Look after yourself..."_

 _"You too..."_ I whisper back as I flee, before my own feelings get the chance to overwhelm me...

As I walk away, I can hear him break down _..."I really thought I was doing the right thing..."_

I look to Olivia in horror, the overheard words almost crippling me, but she urges me to keep moving _..."You need some time, it is not selfish to take it...he'll be ok, Fin is with him..."_

As we get into her car I can't keep the burning question from my lips _..."How can Fin comfort him...against **that**...?"_

_"Because Fin knows what it is like to battle between doing the right thing for a friend, and the right thing by the law..."_

She doesn't explain her words, and I don't ask...they reassure me, without fully understanding them...just knowing that Fin has some inkling of the difficulties of the choice John made, is enough...

It slowly dawns on me, that was the true reality of the choice that he faced, doing as I wanted, not seeing a doctor and going home...or bringing me to the hospital, and calling the police to report the **crime** that had taken place, which was legally the right thing...once more Olivia has managed to articulate the things I am struggling to process...

It is odd that even as I'm in the midst of a trial, the word crime doesn't seem to fit what brought me here...it is as incongruous to me, as the word rape...both describe the events accurately, but yet neither seem a good fit...I have to consciously remind myself that what happened was a crime...

 _"I don't know what he should have done..."_ I finally admit to the only person in the world, I think I could say those words to...

 _"I'm not sure there was a right choice..."_ she agrees...

 _"So how can I hold it against him, if he lost no matter what he did?"_ I ask in desperation...

 _"Because it is how you feel..."_ she answers, as if it is the most natural thing in the world... _"You had your choice taken from you, by Dave Smith...and if that's how you feel about John's choice to pressurize you into seeking medical treatment and reporting what happened to the police, you need to figure out if you can forgive his disregard for your wishes...regardless of his intentions..."_

 _"What if I can't?"_ I ask in dread...but she doesn't respond, leaving me to answer my own question _..."It means I don't trust him..."_

 _"I think I **do** trust him...but it's a big thing...?"_ I continue after a few moments...

 _"It **is** a big thing!"_ she echoes, _"and if you pretend it's not, it will come between you..."_

She drops me off a home, with a reminder that she is there if I need to talk, but I assure her that I am going to group...I'll be fine...that I will see her in the morning...


	26. Aftermath

**A/N Thank you for every kudo that has been left on this or any of my stories, they mean a lot.  
** **I’m not sure if there are no comments because no one has anything to say, maybe the subject matter isn’t conducive to them(I know it is very explicit and raw.....), or if I have somehow created the impression that I don't welcome comments? I’m very open to a conversation, if you have anything to say?**

 

Olivia drops me off at home, with a reminder that she is there if I need to talk, but I assure her that I am going to group...I'll be fine...that I will see her in the morning...

I go through the motions of cooking; slicing vegetables, and preparing a meal, but I have little interest in actually consuming the food I have produced...

The process allows me to think...there are no easy answers though...

And when I find myself at group a couple of hours later, things are no clearer...and I gratefully jump at the invitation to speak at the start of the meeting...

 _"Trial started yesterday..."_ I begin, knowing that is why the group leader was so quick to extend the invitation to me _..."It is so much harder than I ever expected...I didn't think things could get any more difficult than yesterday...I was the first witness to testify...and it was excruciating...But I had my friend...the man who has been my support, my cheerleader, from the moment he stopped my... **rape**...It was my birthday, and he managed to find a card and a gift for me, a way to celebrate it without making it even worse...but he testified today..."_

I try desperately to hold back the tears that force their way out as I finish _..."His testimony was horrific...I don't know if I can trust him anymore...it feels like I've lost my friend..."_

There's a murmur from the group, a mixed chorus of _“happy birthday”_ , “ _congratulations”_ on my testimony, and queries of _"Oh no! What happened?"..._

I feel ridiculous as I relay the most problematic parts of his testimony to those sitting with me, but they try to convince me that this is very definitely not a trifling concern...

They have heard about my friend many times, some of them even gently questioning whether there was more to the friendship I described...so I feel childish as I tell them his admission that he is attracted to me makes me uneasy...that I fear him now, in a way I didn't before...

These women are so open with me, sharing their own comparable experiences, their own mistakes, to try to help me... and I come to the conclusion that I could probably get past that information, in a little time...I'm not sure that I could ever be as physically relaxed with him again, but it is possibly, not an insurmountable problem...

Even amongst this group, perhaps **particularly** amongst this group, the question of him disregarding my clearly stated wishes, in such a way, is very divisive...some women say they could never trust him again...while others appreciate that he cared enough to risk a situation where he was most likely going to lose no matter his decision...

Finally the group leader intervenes with a soft question, _"How are you afraid he will disregard your wishes again?"_

The answer is almost instantaneous, but I still struggle to whisper the words after several minutes...

_"What if he doesn't listen... if... I say... no..."_

_"To sex?"_ she asks carefully...and I see most of the other women nodding their understanding as I confirm her supposition _..."To sex, to **anything** , to **everything**..."_

 _"Do you think he would do that?"_ she probes, and I remember the man breaking down in the courthouse hallway...and shake my head vigorously...

 _"I just didn't realize...and now it makes me question if I'm wrong about him... It makes me worry that my judgment is flawed **again**..."_ I admit... _"And I didn't realize how much of what happened that he saw...and how deeply it affects him...He cried, openly, on the witness stand...but I'm so upset that he pushed me into going to the hospital...and somehow hearing him reluctantly admit he found me attractive, to a room full of people, makes him even more of a danger...because he's not just a sexless creature, like me, he's a real man, with sexual desires..."_

The words shock me as they escape my mouth...because they provide an insight into what I really feel, below all the fear...

 _"You're not a sexless creature..."_ Ali gently corrects...

_"It feels that way...and it feels safe!...But John's not some sort of monster, he isn't really anymore of a danger than he was yesterday, is he? He's just normal...And he's the person who has held me while I sobbed so many times...he is so careful with me...he really seems to understand ...because he **saw**..."_

Edie asks very tentatively... _"You know what he saw now?"_

I nod my head...unable to hold it together any longer... _"He saw...so much!"_

As my body really surrenders to this insight, for the first time, the women around me rally to my aid, offering Kleenex, a hug, and something much less tangible, but no less valuable... **understanding**...

 _"Talk to him!..."_ I hear whispered many times, by many different voices...some of them women who were once, very wary of the man who only recently became my friend, but has supported me so steadfastly...

As always, there is some relief in knowing that these women can relate to what I'm feeling...and I know that I've not only been heard, but also understood, and the feeling of weakness for needing help is diluted somewhat, when I feel like I can make a valuable contribution to a discussion about nightmares...I can help someone else, as I am also, being helped...it's empowering...

But the emotional outpouring of group, and the day at the courthouse take their toll, I'm barely able to make it home, I'm so exhausted, but yet I find myself lying in bed unable to sleep...

_[Are you still awake, John?]_

I finally text...terrified in a way I haven't been, since those first texts we exchanged **after**...

_[Yeah, can't sleep...u ok?]_

_[Is it ok if I call?]_

_[Anytime...]_

It seems like a small thing but it means a lot that he doesn't call me, but allows me to choose, if and when, I enter into such a difficult conversation...

 _"Hey! You ok?_ ” he answers as he picks up the call I had to psych myself up, to make...

 _"Yeah"_ I assure him, uncertain of how to start the conversation...

After a moment of silence he asks softly, _"Did you go to group?"_

 _"Yeah..."_ Despite deciding to make the call, the words just won't come...and for a moment the only sound is that of the open phone line...

 _"Can I start...?"_ he whispers, uncertain whether he should wait for me to speak or if he should take some responsibility for the conversation...

When I don't answer him, he starts to explain softly...

_"Is it ok to start by saying, I'm not sure I'd make the same decisions now, if I was given it to do over?..."_

He allows a gap for me to cut off the explanation he already feels is inadequate...

_"At the time, I thought I was doing the best thing...the **right** thing...I thought you needed medical attention...I thought you were in shock...I thought that you really couldn't make the decision yourself, at that moment...that you weren't **able** to... **Now** , I've gotten to know you so much better, and I've begun to understand so much more...like how you don't use the word...rape...because you don't feel it reflects what really happened to you...when I had assumed it was just too difficult a word. I...had never even considered that... Had I understood that, had I held **that** information **then**...I don't think I would have been so quick to assume I knew better...I don't think I would ever have been so **cavalier**...so **sure** that **I** had enough distance to be able to see the whole picture...I don't think I would have been as confident that I knew the **right** thing to do..."_

His words bring the ever present, hot, tears, flooding out again...

_"The **right** thing would actually have been whatever **you** wanted to do...I discussed this, so much, with Barba, when he prepped me...he needed me to show no uncertainty in my decision, on the stand, he needed me to stand steadfastly behind the decision I made...and I'm still not positive I did the right thing, or the wrong thing..."_

I can hear how difficult it is for him to lay open all his insecurities, his self-doubt, his anguish at the decision he made under immense pressure to try to help me...

_"I **am** glad that you got medical attention, that you are ok...and by calling the police you got the support of Olivia and Fin...I have been incredibly grateful for the support I've gotten from them too...But I had no right to take the choice from you...I am sorry for disregarding your choice. I should have supported you, in whatever you wanted, not tried to push what **I** thought was best onto you...I can see now, how shameful, how significant, that pushing my wishes onto you was, regardless of my intentions...I can never apologize enough for taking your choice away...much as **he** had just done...I'm so sorry..."_

I consider it for a moment...

 _"I'm not sure...I **could** choose..." _ I whisper, finally giving voice to a deeply buried truth... _" **It** was... **I** was..."_

The one word I seek to finish my sentence just doesn't exist in any language...what single word can encompass all that I felt?

_"I think I probably was in a sort of shock...every part of me hurt...but even though I was in pain, it felt removed...like I didn't know what that pain was..."_

I almost want him to stop me, to tell me he doesn't want to know...because I'm not sure I can say it...

_"It doesn't feel like what you see on TV or in movies...I tried to stop him, I really did...but not by punching him, or using any real technique...I tried to push him off me, with my hands, just shoving at him uselessly, grabbing at him like I was falling...there was no burst of righteous anger......no self preserving burst of strength and energy...no awareness of any cohesive thoughts...just panic...and desperation..."_

I'm glad I don't have to see his disgust, as he realizes how thoroughly inept I was...

_"Sometimes I don't even think the way I was moving was designed to stop him, it was just to feel less...caged...almost like it would be ok if I could just move my arms, or legs..."_

Unconsciously I flex my body, to confirm I am still free, as the memories blitz me once again...

_"He was on top of me...his weight crushing me...when he put his hand on my neck...I was so scared I wouldn't be able to breathe!...He was pulling at my clothes...I could feel **him**...I **knew**...but it didn't make me fight harder, it made me even more ineffectual...I was so embarrassed by my nakedness, by my incompetence to get away...And when **he**..."_

I'm only barely aware that my words have petered out...

Oddly, now, that tears feel almost acceptable, I'm dry eyed...staring into the distance...caught in the web of memories I can't escape...

 _"Tell me..."_ he pleads softly...even as I can hear him gasp in anticipation...

 _"It hurt..."_ I continue quietly, unwilling to categorize the action I'm describing, needing the abstraction, the slight vagueness of not labeling the deed, to be able to articulate the hidden feelings... _"...even as he forced my legs apart, my body tried to keep him out, clamping down every muscle, as if **that** could stop him, where my feeble efforts to fight, had failed...I felt the **force**... **he** felt like hot sandpaper pushing into me...but I welcomed the pain...it confirmed I really didn't want it...even as I **let** him..."_

I can't help a sob filled, bitter, chuckling, gurgle...

_"The...roughness...the friction... **hurt**...my body resisted, in every way it could...it caused him to **complain**! He hurled the accusation that I was "Frigid!" at me...as if I was deliberately denying him pleasure...the horrible irony is; that if I wasn't **then**...I am **now**..."_

The admission embarrasses me, my cheeks coloring as the word leaves my lips...

_"But then there was nothing left to fight for...he tried to **make** my body respond to him...to make **it** better for **him**..."_

I can almost hear how much John wants to interrupt me...but he seems to know I need to be allowed to utter the words in peace...

_"I felt sick...literally...I didn't care anymore if I could breathe...I just didn't want to be found like **that**...I couldn't fight anymore, because there was nothing left to win..."_

_"But you **were** still fighting..." _ he assures quickly...

 _"I didn't mean to..."_ I whisper sadly...

 _"You fought him...right until the end..."_ he promises... _"Even if you don't remember...you did..."_

_"When **it** stopped...I thought I'd been **really** hurt...I expected I would be bleeding...it should have looked like an abattoir...but my body betrayed me...the pool of blood I expected to see, wasn't there...all that marked what he had done, that fight, was the pain I felt, but no one could see...If **that** had just really happened, shouldn't I have been bleeding?"_

A moment of silence passes until he is reasonably certain I have nothing else to say...

 _"You **were** bleeding..."_ he whispers softly... _"I saw streaks of blood on... **him**..."_

I can hear his pain in every word...I'm grateful he follows my lead, not using words I can't stomach, allowing the emotion to take center stage...and I know it is something that he will probably never forget, but I can't help myself, as I fire back bitterly...

_"Barely... **not enough**! It should have looked like a bloodbath..."_

After my words have been allowed to hang between us...my guilt and shame unmasked completely... he queries reluctantly, _"What do you think you would have done if I hadn't pushed you to go to the hospital?"_

I'm not sure if he means when he stopped the attack, what would I have done, or if he had never intervened? And I can't bring myself to clarify his question, so I try to answer for both eventualities...

_"When you stopped it...I think I would have gone to my car...but I had no keys..."_

This is something I've never really thought through, and it surprises me when my plan comes to such an early, grinding, stop...That had been my only thought...to get to my car...whether for safety or to flee...my only goal had been my car...but I had no keys...

_"If you hadn't stopped it...I...I....."_

This shocks me even further...I have no idea...I can't even begin to imagine...

 _"Would you have gone to a doctor? Eventually?"_ he probes further...

I can't help flashing back to some of the untreated injuries I got from **him** all those years ago. How, embarrassment at having to explain, and shame, had prevented me from even considering, disclosing any of the painful reminders...

 _"Probably not..."_ I concede...immediately aware that he is most likely asking himself what I may previously have hidden...

 _"Can you ever forgive me?"_ he finally steels himself to ask...

I want desperately, to tell him 'yes', to get the man who has been there for me, back...but there is a hesitance coming from somewhere deep inside me...

 _"I don't know..."_ I whisper, forcing myself not to hide, _"I know you didn't want to hurt me... I probably needed the help...maybe I'm even slightly grateful you took the decision off my shoulders...but...to hear you say you knowingly ignored what I wanted...it scares me...and to know how much you saw..."_

The reminder that he actually saw what was being done to my body makes me queasy...and I sink into the pillows, the phone still clasped to my ear...

 _" **I saw you being hurt!** You have no reason to feel..."_ he begins...

 _"Embarrassment!...Shame!..."_ I finish for him.

 _"No!"_ he comes back quickly... " _They're the things **he** should feel...not you...don't take them on for **him**!"_

 _"You saw me naked...being **fucked**..."_ I spit the word out in distaste _,"...how can I **not** be embarrassed and ashamed?"_

 _"I saw you being **raped**! It is not the same..."_ he contends hotly...

 _"Oh that's so much better!"_ I cry sarcastically... _"Not only did you see the **fuck**...you also saw I couldn't protect myself!...Even fucking better! No big shocker that you didn't take him up on his offer, to have a ‘go’ yourself, then is it!?"_

I have no idea where that came from...it just burst out of my mouth...

I know he wouldn't...

Every part of me is screaming to take back the words, but I can't, they're out there now!

It's as if all my fears, all the knowledge I've gained today, has twisted into some unrecognizable ball of anger...The fact that John saw so much; that he once had some attraction to me; that he took me to the hospital even when I asked him not to...has somehow morphed into **this**...anger that I will never be attractive to a nice guy, like him, again; anger that I was offered like a piece of meat, and didn't even remember; anger that all this weakness was witnessed; anger that I couldn't stop it...

I know my outburst has rendered him mute...but I need him to say something...to give me some hope I haven't lost him...

 _"You did nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of..."_ he finally says, his voice quivering, as he tries to ignore my last, outrageous, words...

 _"I'm sorry..."_ he adds when I don't answer... _"I can understand that hearing me tell the court full of strangers that I was attracted to you, must have been terrifying...I couldn't lie...I'm pretty sure I hadn't hidden it well..."_

He allows me time to process that he has understood the root cause of my angry explosion...

_"I wouldn't hurt you...and nothing I saw that day, altered how I see you...but I **can** see how it changes things...I should never have disregarded what you wanted to do about going to the hospital, there is no excuse for that!...And I can understand that finding out I see you as a beautiful woman, would scare you, after everything...But what I saw that day, affected me too, I can't compare what I feel, to what you suffered, but...I guess I have some healing of my own to do...I'm not sure I could do anything.....sexual....without thinking of....remembering......what **he** did...  
And even if that were not the case, I would never force myself on anyone...I understand it may make you question my actions, my motivations...that we may need to redraw boundaries...that you may need me to earn your trust back...that you may be less comfortable, even with a hug...but I need you to know I would never hurt you like **that**! "_

_"I'm so scared...of everything...of everyone..."_ is all I can give him back...

 _"I know..."_ he whispers _... "I know..."_ he repeats as he just sits helplessly, listening to me sob down the phone...


	27. Down.......

I must have cried myself to sleep...because at some point I awaken to my alarm blaring at me...

The phone is still clasped in my hand...

The battery is long dead, and I can't help wondering how long John held the line open after I drifted off...

I battle with the idea of just leaving the phone as it is, allowing myself to disconnect, to duck the draining conversations that being unreachable can save me from...but eventually I relent to reality, plugging it in with a sigh...too wary of causing any more guilt and worry...

When I hear the buzz that signals the phone turning on, a few moments later, I can't help flinching in anticipation of having to talk to John...I know he won't be able to resist checking on me, the idea fills me with dread even though I'm also really grateful...

I don't know what to say...how to deal with him...it doesn't feel like I know him anymore...

To make things worse, I have yet another day of hellish torture to face in court...

I'm sure Barba has presented his case, so it will be Buchanan's turn...and I know things are only going to get worse...

I want, more than anything, to get back into bed...to hide under the bedclothes, from the horrible mess my life has devolved into...and I wish with all my heart, that I didn't feel guilty for letting everyone down, by even considering this surrender...

I drag myself reluctantly, into the shower, slowly trying to force myself into the day...

Before I can even dress, a text is summoning me...I try to avoid it, not wanting to deal with the fallout of my words, my actions, but I'm too afraid that if I ignore it, I'll find myself face to face with him instead...

_[I know you want some time, just tell me you are ok?]_

Somehow the fact that his guilt has completely subjugated him; that he is willing to take any shit I throw at him, makes me feel sick...I almost want him to fight with me; to tell me to stop blaming him, that he did what I needed him to, whether I want to admit it or not...anything that will make me feel less broken...less toxic...

_[I'm fine]_

_[Ok. I don't want to keep asking you questions, I'm here if I can do anything for you or if you want to talk to me...and I'm sorry!]_

I wish I hadn't been found...

I'm past wishing **it** hadn't happened...I spent so long wishing **that** , but it doesn't seem possible anymore; I'm not even sure I wouldn't just accept what **he** did, if I could only stop the pain there...

I'm clad in just my bra and underwear, as I catch a glimpse of myself...I have no scars from what happened...my body **looks** unaffected, unchanged...

The bruises faded; the cuts healed; the friction burns that so sickened me, lightened and then finally disappeared...there is nothing left, to mark what I went through...

If I had never been found; never been **forced** to report what happened; never been **forced** to relive it...I could be normal again by now...

I close my eyes to my own reflection, pulling on clothes quickly, to hide the flesh that makes me so uneasy...Well, maybe not **normal**...

But could it have been any worse than **this**?

I finally make my way to the courthouse...completely oblivious to how late I am, until I meet a worried looking Fin on the steps...

 _"Is everything ok? We were worried..."_ he asks softly, undoubtedly seeing how tired and broken I am...

 _"I'm sorry..."_ I mutter, " _I'm fine...just running late..."_

_"Olivia tried to call...?"_

_"Shit! I left my phone plugged in beside my bed..."_ I explain sheepishly, when I realize they were more than simply, a ‘little worried’... _"I'm sorry..."_

He just nods gently, forcing a small smile as he quickly calls his partner. He is very careful of the words he chooses, as he tells her I'm running late and just forgot my phone...

Once he has reassured the woman, I can only assume has gone off in search of me, he turns back to me...

_"Olivia will be here soon. Do you want to go in?"_

_"Have they already started?"_ I ask timidly...nodding...

_"A few minutes ago...Buchanan has only just called his first witness..."_

He walks towards the courtroom, carefully keeping pace with me, even when I try to fall behind him as we approach the hallway...

As expected, John is sitting on the bench outside. He quickly gets to his feet. He looks tired, his face unshaven...Fin is carefully watching the exchange whilst trying to look casual...

 _"I didn't want to go in, unless you said it was ok..."_ John mumbles, by means of explanation...

After a beat, I decide I have no more secrets...what does it matter if he **hears**...after everything he has **seen**...?

I just nod tightly at him and he seems to understand, as he walks over and holds the door open for me...

We slip into a seat behind Barba, Fin stepping back to allow John in first, before placing himself casually, between us...

It is only as I relax at the human buffer zone of Fin wedged between John, and me, that I begin to hear the witness on the stand...

_"...I've worked with Dave for about 15 years..."_

The voice is familiar, and when I look up, I'm taken aback to see a colleague on the stand...

 _"So you were a peer, a colleague, when the initial accusations were made against him?"_ Buchanan asks smoothly, and my stomach drops...

 _"I was..."_ Larry says, looking to me, _"I tried to warn him, he was getting himself into a dangerous situation..."_

 _"What did you mean by that?"_ Buchanan prompts eagerly...

_"Dave is a good guy, he was enjoying flirting with **her**...it was just a bit of fun to him...I don't think he had any real intention of it progressing past that..."_

Barba objects quickly _..."Objection! Your Honor, the witness cannot know what the defendant was thinking..."_

 _"Sustained"_ the judge rules quickly...

" _Did you **witness** any exchanges between my client and the **alleged** victim at the time of the initial accusations?"_ Buchanan easily reshapes his question to guide his witness' story...

 _"I did..."_ Larry answers confidently, _"She would try to be all buddy-buddy with him...playing with her hair, flirting...it was obvious she was after him...so I tried to warn him she had an agenda...she would tease him in front of everyone..."_

 _" **Tease**?"_ Buchanan asks, knotting his brows in mock confusion...

_"Yeah! Like when she would complain about the heat, and he would offer to help her with any clothes that were making her too hot, she'd tell him he wasn't man enough..."_

Buchanan looks to the jury...as Larry continues...

_"She'd try to get him all hot and bothered, and then put him down in front of everyone...he told me, that she wasn't so **cold** in private..."_

_"Your Honor! Hearsay!"_ Barba roars...

 _"Mr. Tennant! Please confine yourself to things you witnessed!"_ the judge reprimands.

_"I **saw** him finally taking a step back, being more careful of her...and the next thing, she had brought him up on charges!"_

_"So you never saw anything untoward being done by Mr. Smith?"_ Buchanan asks carefully...

 _"Nah, just the usual messing..."_ Larry responds quickly... _"She seemed oversensitive...always whining about something...expecting every **thing** and every **one** to change for her...she wasn't able to take a joke..."_

 _"And more recently...?"_ Buchanan prompts...

_"I haven't worked too much, with **her** , since she cost Dave his job, and nearly his marriage! I wouldn't trust her! But I still work with him on occasion ...and I've heard the rumors she has been spreading..."_

_"Your Honor!"_ Barba renews his objection...

_"Your Honor, this witness is testifying to the atmosphere in the workplace leading up to the 'incident'...he is in a unique position to describe the building circumstances as he witnessed them..."_

The judge seems to be considering this for a moment... _"I'll allow you a little latitude Mr. Buchanan, but bring it back to what the witness saw and heard..."_

 _"Mr. Tennant, what did you see happening in the weeks coming up to the disputed incident?"_ Buchanan demands.

_"I saw Dave becoming stressed...worried...I saw him **stop** standing up for himself, as he usually would..."_

_"And is that who Mr. Smith is?"_ the lawyer interjects...

_"No! Not at all, he's usually very quick to stand up for himself...he's a good man, a good partner to his wife, a good father, a gentle giant...he made one mistake, in getting involved with **her**...he has already paid dearly for that error in judgment, he lost his job, his reputation, and nearly his marriage...he was so afraid of that repeating, that he was manipulated into what happened, and once again **he** is the one in trouble..."_

_"Thank you Mr. Tennant..."_ Buchanan says with a smug smile...

I feel sick as Buchanan sits back down beside his grinning client...

Olivia slips into the seat beside me, asking in a whisper, if I'm ok...

I can only nod unconvincingly...

Barba gets to his feet with a sheet of notes... _"Mr. Tennant, you say the victim wasn't able to take a joke? Was oversensitive? Was always whining about something? Was expecting everything and everyone to change for her? Did you feel she didn't belong in that workplace?"_

 _"She didn't!"_ Larry confirms quickly... _"She chose to work in a very male industry but she couldn't cope with it..."_

 _"And what was the 'usual messing' she couldn't deal with?"_ Barba asks shrewdly...

The witness shrugs his shoulders back at Barba...

 _"Your Honour?"_ Barba appeals...

 _"Mr. Tennant, you will answer the question please!"_ the judge declares.

 _"A dirty joke...slagging over clothes, and the like..."_ he huffs at Barba...

 _"Surely as the only female, it is understandable that **dirty** jokes and men commenting on her appearance may have made her uncomfortable?" _ Barba enquires...

 _"It wasn't personal!"_ Larry counters...

Barba consults his notes...with a slightly disbelieving _'hmphhh'......_ _"You say she 'played with her hair, and flirted' with the defendant, what does that entail?"_

 _"She'd have her hair down and pull it up, or let it down if it was up...brushing it...she'd stretch...lean over things..."_ Larry says cautiously...

 _"The job she did was quite physical, wasn't it?"_ Barba follows up...and when Larry mumbles an _"I suppose..."_ he continues... " _So it is plausible that she might tie her hair up to start a physical task, but might prefer to let it down when she has finished...? Perhaps she was stretching so she wouldn't get hurt?...And in such a physical job, I would find it hard to believe she would have been the only person to lean over things?"_

 _"It wasn't just **what** she did, it was **how** she did it...all sexy...looking for attention..."_ Larry complains...

 _"So these were the kind of actions you said were designed to get Mr. Smith 'all hot and bothered'?"_ Barba challenges...

_"He might say something innocent, to her and she'd treat it as a sexual comment..."_

_"Like a dirty joke? So she did have a sense of humor?"_ Barba fires back...

_"No! She could throw back innuendo as well as he could..."_

_"So she did fit in...!?"_ Barba exclaims, quickly withdrawing the comment when Buchanan objects...

 _"And when she made comments, like telling Mr. Smith he 'wasn't man enough', wasn't it possible she was just standing up for herself, in a way she hoped would diffuse the situation?"_ the lawyer enquires.

_"No! She knew what she was doing..."_

_"Is Mr. Smith known for being quite quick to anger? For letting his temper get the better of him?"_ Barba questions...

_"He doesn't hide how he is feeling..."_

_"So, Mr. Tennant, is it possible that what you identified as worry and stress, in the run up to the incidents of late January, were actually anger and resentment? And that Mr. Smith had plans of how he would 'stand up for himself'...?"_

_"No! Dave is not a rapist!"_

_"You **hope**!"_ Barba declares, and immediately withdraws the statement, with a soft apology to the irritated judge...

Halfway back to his chair, Barba turns, " _Did you and the defendant discuss the victim regularly?"_

 _"Not regularly...she would come up in conversation from time to time..."_ Larry admits...

 _"And was Mr. Smith bitter at her?"_ Barba asks

 _"She tried to ruin his life...wouldn't you be?"_ Larry shoots back without thinking...

 _"That's all...thank you"_ Barba finishes quickly...

The judge turns to Buchanan...

 _"Redirect, your Honor!"_ Buchanan calls, as he pulls himself up once more...

_"Mr. Tennant, can you tell us why you don't believe the alleged victim's version of events?"_

I can't help wondering if Buchanan planned this, so Larry would have the last word when Barba couldn't question it...

Larry nods seriously, _"She said that he hit her, that he slammed her down, that he put his hand around her neck...Dave doesn't know his own strength...if he had done any of that, she would have been **really** hurt...not just a few bruises ...and if he put his weight on her, as she describes...it's just ridiculous...he would have crushed her..."_

I have barely breathed throughout his testimony...and as Buchanan just nods and retakes his seat, I look to see the jury clearly considering the simplicity of the argument...

I can't deny what Larry is saying... **he** has never been aware of his strength, it is part of the reason I came away from my first 'encounters' with **him** bearing so many painful reminders...it **is** logical that I should have suffered much more injury...but yet, I didn't...and I can't explain that...

Did I really flirt with **him** all those years ago? I never intended to...

I tired to make him into my friend...to stop him picking on me...and later, to stop him hurting me...Did I confuse him with mixed messages? Did I give him reason to think I wanted the bawdy, public propositions? Did he really think I welcomed his advances, even as I declined them as delicately as I could? Did he really believe that I was just playing some game...? Is it my fault...? Could I have avoided all of this, if I had just been clearer?

As Larry walks by me, there is no mistaking the deep hatred burning in his eyes...he pauses at the end of the bench I am seated in, glowering at me, and that draws the eyes of almost everyone in the court...

The court officer moves towards him, to ensure he continues toward the door, without any trouble, and as Larry shifts, I find my gaze locked with **his**...

Every part of my body reacts...my stomach lurches, I can taste bile at the back of my throat...Even though I am sitting, my legs turn to jelly...I'm cold and yet I can feel sweat dribbling down my lower back...and still I can't take my eyes off **him**...

I'm not even aware that my whole body is trembling...

My breathing is ragged; shallow breaths being pulled in too fast...

I see movement to my right, in my peripheral vision, a person coming towards me...and flinch away from the expected attack...

But I only hear John's voice whispering, _"It's ok! He's nowhere near you! Nobody is going to hurt you! Look down! Move your hands, your arms! You're free...Kick your feet out...there's no one there...You're ok!"_

I look down...there are no hands on me, no restraints, no body pinning me...I tense each muscle in turn, checking I still have command of it...listening to his soft, even, voice reassure me over and over...

I know my panic is still visible as I look up at him...he is leaning over Fin, the detective watching every move carefully, ready to intercede at the first sign I'm uncomfortable...

 _"I didn't want it!"_ I tell the police officer beseechingly, when he meets my eyes... _"I told him 'no'...!"_

I don't even realize I'm causing a disturbance until the judge's gavel bangs down, and my arms bolt up defensively...

I'm told later, that the judge grimaced, as she realized my reaction was a direct result of her gavel strikes.

The action was meant to call the room to order, to stop the ever-increasing murmur in the gallery...but instead sends me into total panic...

 _"I believe we'll take an early lunch!"_ she announces, watching me, not dispassionately, cower, shaking in the seat...looking quickly to both lawyers to see if there is any objection _..."In that case, court is adjourned until 2pm..."_

She raises the gavel once more, but sets it down gently instead, leaving the room so that I can be tended to...

John keeps whispering to me, using every trick he has seen bring me any comfort, or relief, in the last months; reminding me I'm free; telling me to move my arms and legs; helping me calm my still rapid breathing; reassuring me I'm safe...

Barba makes his way over with a glass of water, uncertainly passing it to me, as John continues to talk softly...

With the lawyer standing before us, I can't help one more, sobbing, attempt to convince them, and myself, that I did not want to be touched...

_"I said 'no'...! I never wanted any of it..."_

_"I know that"_ he assures me _, " **We** know that..."_ he amends gently, gesturing to Olivia and Fin and John... all of whom nod in agreement...

" _Don't doubt yourself...there is nothing that could justify what he did... **nothing**!"_ John whispers, tentatively holding his hand out to me...

None of the revelations of yesterday are remembered, as I reach out desperately, for his hand, tightly clinging to it. Fin gestures to John to stand up. He gets to his feet carefully, keeping his back hunched, not wanting to seem threatening, not wanting me to feel as though he is looming over me and the detective slides over, allowing him to sit beside me...

My head reflexively, drops onto his familiar shoulder, as he slips in beside me, and I'm sure I see tears dancing in the corner of his eyes...but he doesn't try to push me any further...continuing to whisper soft reassurances, and holding the hand I have proffered...

Slowly I start to calm...

 _"How bad was **that**?"_ I ask the lawyer with a sniffle...

 _"It hurt us..."_ he tells me honestly, instinctively knowing I'm asking about the testimony that affected me so deeply, allowing me to gloss over the scene I have just made _... "...but I'm not giving up...Your testimony...John's testimony...they were both very powerful...the evidence supports your account...Buchanan still hasn't presented a full alternative version...A lot depends on the defendant's testimony..."_

 _"It's going to be **bad** isn't it?"_ I ask quietly, already accepting the inevitability...

 _"He is going to try to claim he had your consent...it won't be easy..."_ he advises me, _"And I think he is going to attack John's perception, his decisions, pretty hard..."_

I frown deeply, looking at the man beside me, his guilt already devouring him...

 _"I'm not sure it can get much worse..."_ I whisper... _"I guess I'm making **my** choices now..."_ I tell Olivia, my voice husky, my face still wet with tears, hoping she can understand...gently pulling my hand from John's...

She looks me in the eye for a moment, nodding carefully...as the men around me look to each other questioningly...

I try to pull myself up, to match my words with my body language...my loosely balled fists shoving away the remaining tears... _" **He** didn't...I did **not** consent to what he did...and I'm not done fighting!"_

The quiet detective, Fin, is the only one to actually answer me... a soft smile spreading across his features, _"Good for you!"_ he encourages...

Olivia and Barba look to each other before nodding tightly at me...

John can only swallow deeply, averting his eyes...

I refuse the offer to lunch with the lawyer and cops, and everyone tries not to look at John...their unspoken questioning of whether our relationship is patched enough to take that small step, all too clear, despite the lack of words...

 _"Lunch?"_ I ask the man beside me...


	28. .....But not out!

I try to pull myself up, to match my words with my actions...my loosely balled fists shoving away the remaining tears... _" **He** didn't...I did **not** consent to what he did...and I'm not done fighting!"_

The quiet detective, Fin, is the only one to answer me, vocally ... a soft smile spreading across his features as he pats my shoulder, _"Good for you!"._

Olivia and Barba look to each other, some unspoken exchange passing between them, before they both nod tightly at me...

John can only swallow deeply, averting his eyes...

I refuse the offer to lunch with the lawyer and cops, and everyone tries not to look at John...their unspoken query of whether our relationship is patched enough to take that small step, all too clear, despite the lack of words...

 _"Lunch?"_ I ask the man beside me...

He looks a little surprised, but nods eagerly.

Barba, Olivia and Fin take their leave, seemingly reassured that I won't be alone and I find myself face to face with my friend...

 _"You hungry?"_ he asks me softly...

I shake my head, shrugging my shoulders disinterestedly.

 _"Coffee though?"_ he asks knowingly, a small smile curling his lips.

I give him my best _'duh'_ look... _"There is never a time that I say no to coffee!"_ I remind him lightly...both of us desperate to prove that everything is fine, that we have talked, like two adults, and as is promised by such a mature, and adult action, it has solved our problem...but as I look at him, I can't help **remembering**...all that he saw, how upset he was as he testified, that he feels an attraction...that he too, has forced me, into something I didn't want...

It's confusing that I need him, he's the only one who seems to almost, understand...but yet even though I clearly trust him, I'm still scared and distrustful...and there doesn't seem to be any way to go back...

How is it possible to feel such diametrically opposed things at the same time?

So, despite our best efforts, there is an awkwardness in both of us...an unease...a deep chasm of unspoken feelings, even after we have talked about them...

 _"C'mon!"_ he says nudging me lightly, with his shoulder...

I can't help wishing it were possible to recapture the comfort he managed to impart that first day at lunch...how holding my hand, had made me feel like maybe it **was** possible that I could get through this...how I fell asleep so easily, that evening, in his presence...how empowered I felt that he saw me as strong, even as I sobbed pathetically...

I deliberately, push away the question of where we are going, and try to force myself to go back...to how we were...following him trustingly, without needing to question our destination...trying not to dread sitting at a table, watching him, him watching me, as we try not to talk about the only things that matter...

 _"You ok to walk a little bit?"_ he asks quietly, after looking around thoughtfully, for a moment. He is seemingly not immune to the strain that has crept in between us either...

I can't help the soft sigh of relief, that I won't be trapped at a table with him, in an overcrowded eatery, in the next two minutes, as I nod...

I allow him to lead me, our steps slowly falling into synch, as we make our way along pavements not yet crowded by harried people trying to fit too much into a short lunch break...

We make a quick caffeine stop, and I allow him to talk me into a huge coffee, when he advises me I might be glad of its warmth...

The day is cold; winter has begun, but the snows are still a way off. The sun is peaking through the clouds, and I bask in its weak rays, when he stops at a bakery to pick up pastries that are still warm from the oven. It begins to feel like I am actually escaping all the drama and pain, for a short while...

He leads me out onto nearby Pier 15, onto the top level of the viewing platform...the city looks beautiful from up here. Wrapped snugly in the warm coat I nestled myself in this morning, I quite happily sit onto one of the seats that would be perpetually packed, during the summer months...

The water has always had the power to calm me, and I find myself gratefully tucking into the warm pastry he hands me, sipping on my coffee...

The silence that was oppressive and uncomfortable, a few blocks ago, is now peaceful and easy...and the lack of expectations means that the conversation loosens naturally...

 _" **That** has to have been hard...?"_ he asks gently, trying to feel his way into the conversation, not wanting to ask questions, just opening the door for me to follow, if I want to...his disdain for the most recent proceedings, unhidden...

 _"Yeah..."_ I whisper, curling my hands tighter around the comforting warmth of the coffee cup, getting to my feet, " _And it's going to get harder..."_

Neither of us looks at the other, staring out over the East River, at helicopters, at boats...letting this truth sink in...

 _" **You** don't have to sit through **his** testimony..."_ I finally tell him softly... _"I won't be alone..."_

He chokes slightly, pain mixed into amusement, in a little gasp...

 _"How can you be trying to give **me** a way out, when **you** plan on sitting there?" _ he asks incredulously, as he comes to join me at the railing.

For a second I'm ready to fire back, feeling defensive at the implication that I **want** this torture...but as I look at him, I see he is worried and genuinely baffled...

 _"I can see how much all of this is affecting you...I don't want you to feel you have to sit with me..."_ I try to explain...

I hear him admit in a strangled voice _..."I'm not sure I'll be **able** to listen to **him** tell everyone that he didn't..."_

 _"You don't have to..."_ I try to assure...before he can say the words I am so averse to hearing, anymore than is absolutely necessary...

 _"Neither do **you**..."_ he whispers, holding his breath...braced for the backlash...

I look at his face; the knitted brow, the dark circles under his eyes, the unfamiliar growth on his jaw that is rapidly going beyond stubble, and realize that he isn't trying to upset me, he is worried for me. I resume peering out over the lapping water...trying to find a way to soothe his concern...

 _"I know..."_ I finally breathe, _"But I **need** to hear it...I want to try...I want **him** to have to lie to my face!"_

 _"I don't know how you sat...and listened to that... **bastard**...telling everyone you were flirting...!" _ he spits back...

Now his anger is clear...but I can only shrug my shoulders...

 _"I didn't...I had a meltdown...!"_ I remind him, chuckling bitterly at the confession, my first real acknowledgment of what happened...

 _"I think my imagination is worse..."_ I admit, as I carefully watch a boat pull away from the next pier... _"...than what they say...but hearing it...is still **hard**..."_

I see him nod, from the corner of my eye, his own gaze also set somewhere in the distance as he sighs _... "...Like how badly injured you were...as bad as it was to hear you say it...the things I imagined......."_

He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't need to...for either of us...

 _"Thank you!"_ I finally whisper, embarrassedly, as the silence envelops us once again...

He turns straight to me, his eyebrow raised _..."For what?"_

My body tries to turn, but my eyes steadfastly study the river _..."For this..."_ I gesture to the horizon I can't allow my gaze to wander from, if I want to keep talking... _"...for...in the courtroom; and when I... for not telling me to fuck off when I said you were a ...threat..."_

The last word is a gasp... I hate it, and I hate that I ever applied it to him, but that it is how I feel...

 _"Don't feel bad!...I can't imagine..."_ he starts to comfort me...

 _"Oh for fucks sake!"_ I snarl, _"Stop treating me like...I'm some fragile **thing**! I'm not some little doll made of china!"_

I know it's harsh, and immediately try to remedy my unforgiving words...with an explanation of sorts...still unable to completely hold back my anger...

 _"Don't take all my shit! Tell me to back off! To stop speaking to you like that! I know I'm not myself...I'm trying, but I'm not...I needed this..."_ I gesture at where we stand against the railing, _"...but letting me lash out at you...it doesn't help, it makes me feel even worse..."_

He nods in understanding...answering with only a soft... _"Ok!"_

I can't help a wry smile, his quick acceptance of my demand, underscoring his acknowledgment that it was exactly what he had been doing...

 _"On that subject..."_ he starts very carefully, wanting to honor my demand, but not upset me, at the same time... " _I can see why you may feel wary of me... **now**...but I could **even** control myself with Emilia Clarke!"_

I can see the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, as he once more mentions his Game of Thrones celebrity crush, the woman who tames dragons...and I roll my eyes...laughing lightly...

 _" **Really!**..."_ He says, trying to make a serious point behind the humor _..."...I know that **he** is going to tell some fucked up version of losing control...of not knowing what he was doing...of misreading signs...But that's not what happened! What happened was very far from a **mistake**...don't doubt it! **Men** don't understand that argument! It doesn't sound familiar! Not unless, you are **like** him..."_

His words are filled with passion, heat-filled certainty...true belief...but when he continues it's like a different person is speaking, he's tentative, and much more unsure of his footing...

_"... I understand that you didn't want to hear me say I find you attractive, but I don't want you to feel threatened...if it helps, I've always felt like that...even when you didn't know it..."_

The mischievous glint is back, as he throws in an aside _"And I think you are the only one **not** to figure it out!"_

I can't help a slightly self-conscious smile...

_" **I won't hurt you!** No matter what...you can never do anything, or say anything, to ever **make** me do something like **that**... And you can always tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable..."_

I nod softly, the words going a huge way in relaxing the ball of worry that has been gnawing away at me, ever since the revelation...

 _" **This** is pretty cringe-y actually..."_ I return with the same mischief...after a moment... A flash of the easy way I used to confront life's little twists, in the disarming, humorous, honesty...

 _"Tell me about it!"_ he mutters with a laugh and dramatic eye roll...

Once more, I let my head rest on his shoulder...but this time it is much more deliberate, more considered...not a panic stricken, thoughtless, inadvertent reflex...

He seems to appreciate the gesture for what it is; an attempt to put aside some of the fear...leaning into me too...

 _"I'm not sure I can make it through this testimony either...,"_ the words tumble out before I can process, or stop them...

 _"You know, you really don't have to..."_ he whispers...

I nod with a sigh...

 _"But you **need** to...?"_ he follows up...

Again I nod...

It's his turn to sigh deeply _..."I think I get that!...I don't want to hear him...but I also don't want to **not** hear it..."_

 _"Can I ask you something...very personal?"_ he mumbles uncertainly after a few seconds...

I'm loathe to allow a question he feels the need to ask permission for, but I want to try to let him in...so I murmur back a soft, yielding, _'mmmm'_...

_"You do know that nothing that bastard said makes any difference, right?"_

He's too close, I know he will hear any gasp or sigh; I silently plead with my traitorous body; not to sob or tense, and betray me again; to just allow me this secret...I try to find a way to deflect his question discretely, but my lack of reaction seems to give me away...

 _"Listen to me!?"_ he pleads softly, directly into my ear, his words the barest whisper, meant to reach down into the dark recesses where the guilt hides... _"I don't know how you feel, what you struggle with, because I haven't been through what you have...but I'm trying to learn... I think it's all too common, to feel like you could have fought harder, or done more...even when it isn't true..._

_And trust me when I tell you, it isn't true!_

_I saw you fight! I saw you say no! I saw you trying to push him away..._

_One whispered 'no' should be enough, as should gently pulling away, or a million other subtle indicators of reluctance, reticence or refusal...It shouldn't even take saying 'no' for a friend, partner, or even stranger, to know their advances are unwelcome...even the absence of a 'no' does not mean yes!... I hate that it took **this** to open my eyes...but you are **not** to blame for what happened...it was **not** a mistake, it was **not** a miscommunication...he **raped** you! It was deliberate, it was planned, and there was nothing else you could have done to stop him..."_

His head is still turned to where mine is frozen on his shoulder...

 _"I will say this as many times as I need to, to make sure you believe me..."_ he finishes.

 _"I don't think I flirted with him...years ago...I didn't mean to..."_ my doubt finds a way out...confirming his fears...

His need to pull me into an enveloping hug is almost tangible, but he controls it, barely moving, carefully controlling his reaction, only allowing a sighing groan to signal his feelings at my broken confession...

_"I don't want to upset you...but I need to be clear...it doesn't matter if you stripped naked, ripped his clothes off, and played with his body for hours, while telling him in intense detail what you planned on doing to him...you said 'no'!..."_

He allows a moment for me to stop him, or try to argue, before continuing...

_"Saying you were flirting by playing with your hair and leaning over, is absolute bullshit! You are every bit as entitled as the rest of us, to tell a dirty joke, or bat off an insult with an innuendo...it does not give someone the right to demand anything sexual...You are not oversensitive!...You are very clear about when something is inappropriate, but you are also very good at taking a joke...You are better able to root out someone's intent behind a comment, than anyone else...Do not doubt yourself! You did nothing to warrant what he did..."_

_"But you didn't see the start...or what happened all those years ago..."_ my words are flat, dejected...

_"That's what I'm telling you...it doesn't matter...none of it matters...because there is **nothing** you can ever do to give someone permission to **rape** or **sexually assault** you..."_

His comment reminds me, that he knows next to nothing about what happened in the past...and it reassures me, that he is not guessing, not making assumptions, nor is he inadvertently telling me that **only** being sexually assaulted, is less important, less valid...he is being careful to tell me that either, is an obscenity to him...and he is painstakingly spelling it out, that he sees I would bear no responsibility for either action...

I try to accept his words, but the self-doubt won't be banished so easily...and I can't help wondering where he learned so much?

He clearly expects to repeat those same words many, many, times...

Our attention drifts back out to the water and the skyline, as we battle the dreads and fears that are too intimate to share...

Finally he checks his watch...reluctantly telling me we should probably head back...

The tiny, peaceful, bubble we had created for ourselves, bursts at this intrusion of reality...

He pulls the remainder of his croissant into pieces, throwing them out onto the water, where cawing seagulls swoop down greedily...

I follow suit, laughing as the birds dive, covetously trying to outdo each other for the largest fragments.

It is a final moment of innocent fun, before we dispose of the paper bag and cups, grudgingly turning to start the trudge uptown, back to court...

It's not a long walk, but the tension starts to pull at my neck and shoulders, as we get ever closer to dreaded target.

The benefit of the break has nearly been undone, by the time I pick my way up the front steps of the courthouse...but the unwavering presence of my friend soothes me somewhat...

I have no doubt that there will be challenges for us in the future, a couple of difficult conversations cannot magically fix all that has passed under the bridge. But the great chasm that seemed to be stretching out, relentlessly, between us, seems to be slowly, being traversed; the difficulties being negotiated, the damages being patched...

And when he reaches a hand out to me, I gladly take it, allowing his tacit support...

When we enter the courtroom, I have already let go of John's hand, still conscious of the appearances of such gestures.

Barba is back behind his desk, loading files onto its wooden surface. He dips his head at me, in greeting, as I slip into the seat beside Olivia, John on my left...

 _"Are you sure you want to be in here?"_ Olivia asks softly...

 _"No!"_ I whisper back, _"But I don't want any regrets..."_

She seems to recognize the sentiment and nods, _"You can leave if it gets too much...just let me know?...You aren't alone!"_

 _"Thanks"_ is all I can say as my mouth dries...

 _" **You** don't have to..."_ I tell John for the last time...

 _"I know! I'm trying for me too..."_ he informs me...but he pales as the defense sweeps into the room; the defendant smug, as he takes his seat...

 _"How can **he** look so confident?"_ John asks in a quivering, enraged, voice...

I can only shake my head, and Olivia reminds us _"he has escaped **real** consequences of his actions once, it breeds hubris..."_

I know she means this as a comfort to me, the implication that it is **over** -confidence...but the reminder, that at some level, we have already been through this dance...and it didn't end well for me...only makes me more anxious...

John seems to feel the stiffness that freezes me, hear the hitch in my breathing, as he slips his hand into mine...

The woman sitting beside me doesn’t miss this small movement....

 _"Lean on us...!"_ she whispers...as her partner slips in beside her...

The quiet detective leans over her to add his own encouragement _..."We've got your back! We're here for you...both of you!..."_ he adds with a deliberate look to John...

The court officer announces the Judge, and we all stand, John gripping my hand back, as tightly as I am clasping his...the reminder that we are supporting each other at this moment, makes me feel less frail and feeble, less weak, as we drop back onto the bench...

 _"Mr. Buchanan?"_ the judge asks once she is settled...

_"Yes your Honor, I would like to call Dave Smith to the stand..."_


	29. Monster?

_"Yes your Honor, I would like to call Dave Smith to the stand..."_

I'm not sure if it's the name, or recognition that the clock has finally run down...but I gasp for air, a breath that I hold nervously, too long, until my lungs are screaming...it's almost as if I thought I could stop the march of time by denying my need for oxygen...as if the world would stop, when I did...

But things don't work like that! I just find myself puffing quietly, my body breathless...

 **He** is wearing a dark blue suit, a navy shirt, even a tie...he looks harmless...the fact that the tie is slightly crooked, the top shirt button undone, somehow makes him look even more like the 'dad next door'...as he stands to be sworn in, his hand on the bible, eagerly agreeing to tell the truth...

A tiny voice in my head, reminds me it's not the truth, none of it, is what really happened...but a wave of uncertainty washes over me...is that not exactly what the jury is here to decide?

Buchanan lumbers over to the stand, his client instantly looking smaller, as the big man towers over the seated defendant...

_"Dave, I know you're nervous...and this is difficult for you...but could you tell us what happened on the day in question?"_

**He** takes a deep breath, sighing softly, and looks his lawyer in the eye, nodding with a strategic gulp...

_"I dropped my kids to school, Val wasn't feeling well, so I told her to stay in bed...I knew we weren't due on site until 10am, so I could be a little late...When I got to work, I spent the first couple of hours out at the truck, offloading and organizing the kit...I didn't go near the 'build'..."_

He is talking straight to the jury...his voice soft, but even...everything about his performance geared towards making him appear open, and 'ordinary'...and not the monster I had described...

_"...I didn't know she was working on-site..."_

The lawyer interjects softly, _"You had a difficult history with her? Had you worked with her since the investigation that led to you losing your livelihood?"_

His client looks down, trying to feign shame, or guilt, or some such emotion, at the mention of his **difficult** history...

I can't help the icy cold stab of fear that strikes me...this is so choreographed...so plausible...so terrifying...

 _"I have..."_ he whispers, _"It's not easy...I try not to have anything to say to her, to keep my distance..."_

 _"Why is that?"_ the lawyer questions...

Now, **he** throws a calculated look towards his wife, before answering...

 _"Because I think I hurt her feelings when I embarked on an affair with her, all those years ago...but then ended it...",_ another deliberate look to the woman sitting directly behind his seat, punctuates his words, _"I know I hurt my wife...I don't know why it happened...I love Val..."_

He seems to be trying to convey embarrassment at his actions...

_" **She** flirted with me, I guess it stroked my ego...but I quickly realized it was a mistake and finished it..."_

_"What happened when you finished it?"_ Buchanan asks curiously...

_" **She** was angry...I was married though and I didn't want to lose my wife and kids..."_

**His** voice is soft, imitating regret, maybe even sadness, as he casts his eyes down, as though he was ashamed of an extramarital indiscretion...

 _"Was that the end of it?"_ his lawyer continues to push...

 **He** shakes his head unhappily, turning his gaze back up to his attorney...

_"No! She had threatened me, that she would... **ruin**...my life...I didn't think she meant it, I thought it was just said in upset...but she made accusations... **horrible** accusations...that I had sexually harassed, even... assaulted her..."_

**He** looks both disbelievingly, and sadly at the jury, shaking his head...before picking up his story...

_"I had to explain...to my wife...to my children...that I had made a mistake...but **that** wasn't true..."_

**He** smiles over at the woman again, gratefully...

_"...I was very lucky that my wife knows what kind of man I am...she knew the accusations were false...she stood by me...helped me explain to my children..."_

_"So none of the scenarios detailed in that investigation report, happened?"_ his lawyer stresses...

_"Not as they were described...No! There were flickers of familiarity, of things that had been said or done when we were...intimate...but No! I would never hurt a woman, or do anything like that..."_

_"So the accusations were borne completely, out of spite, at you ending the short-lived relationship?"_ Buchanan scoffs...

I expect the monster I know, to show himself, to denigrate me, to vilify me...to call my whole character into question as he did during the investigation...

_"That was what I said at the time, but I'm older, wiser, now...I think I hurt her feelings, maybe her pride...maybe she even felt a little 'used'..."_

This spreads a chill through me.

The callous attacks on my sanity, and character are nearly preferable to **this**...

 _"You are much more forgiving than **I** would be, in your place..."_ his lawyer mutters in admiration of his apparent compassion and understanding...

Barba is immediately on his feet, objecting to the statement, which the defense lawyer is quick to retract, with an apology...

 _"But the investigation discovered no foundation for the accusations?"_ Buchanan is happy to drive his point home...

_"No! Some of our colleagues even supported that there had been some sort of 'relationship'...but no one saw any of the things she claimed happened...I made a **mistake**...but I paid very deeply, for that short-lived error in judgment..."_

**He** looks suitably admonished, and guilty, for the silly **mistake** that led to the misunderstanding...

_"So after losing the job you loved, and causing huge marital problems...you finally managed to work your way back into the career you had lost, then you tried to keep a distance between you...tell us, how did the events of the day in question, come to pass?"_

I can't help admiring how Buchanan has completely turned the tables on me, as I watch a horrible dream, a true nightmare, unfolding in front of me...

_"I went into the storage area...in search of a colleague...and found myself face to face with her...there was no one else there...I was nervous, but didn't want to be rude..."_

He is starting to get a little fidgety now...but as I look at the jury watching him, I understand they are probably seeing a man uncomfortable with the situation, not a man struggling to keep his lies consistent...

_"She said that a case, a box, was about to fall, and asked me to help her lift it, so no one would be hurt...I couldn't say no...so I followed her...she cornered me, in amongst some boxes that were stacked high...she told me that I owed her...pressing herself up against me...she moved her hand to the front of my pants...stimulating me..."_

He has the decency to look embarrassed as he says this, his cheeks coloring slightly, his eyes flicking up to his wife once more...

_"I told her that my marriage was good...that she was an attractive woman, but that I was already involved...I didn't want to hurt her feelings again..."_

I can't help wondering if he is deliberately paraphrasing John's admission...if he is trying to sully that even further...or if he is oblivious to the significance of the words...

_"She wasn't really accepting my attempts to free myself from her...but I was afraid to push her away...terrified I would find myself up on some trumped up charges again..."_

My breathing is shallow, and I take in every word, every action, but I'm not really present...I'm trapped somewhere deep inside my frozen body...

_"She guided my hands up her shirt...and when I stepped back, she tried to hold them against her...chest...and her shirt pulled, then ripped...it was very light fabric..."_

**He** pauses briefly, allowing the jury to see the look of fear he is knowingly, flashing at them...

_"I panicked...I knew I was in trouble...she pulled me towards her, leaning back against the wall...I was aware how it would look if anyone came in, and I tried to back away, but she was pulling me against her, I tripped...we fell to the floor, I threw my arms out in front of me to try to stop my fall, to stop myself from falling on her...she could have hit her head when she fell, because she had her hands on me...but when we landed I was half on top of her, her shirt was torn, and she told me that if I didn't give her what she wanted, she **already** had everything she needed, to **really** ruin my life..._

_I didn't know what to do...I knew how it could look...she kept rubbing me...pushing her shirt up...she reached for my belt buckle, reminding me that she would destroy my life if I refused her again..._

_She was trying to turn me on...and even though I didn't welcome her advances, my body was responding to her..._

_She took pleasure in being able to get me hard...she started telling me that I obviously found her appealing, because of my body's reaction, that all she wanted was...sex...that she was **lonely** and horny..._

_She started to push her hand into my pants, I tried to stop her, but she threatened to scream...so I let her..."_

I think he is trying to sound reluctant, ashamed...but it also comes out with a hint of arrogance, almost boasting that he was irresistible...

_"My body was reacting to her...what she was doing, felt good...she kept telling me not to overthink it...to just enjoy it...she told me she remembered how good we were...it seemed easier to just go along with it...my body wanted it..._

_She was never...timid...'in the bedroom'...she always enjoyed... things...slightly less vanilla..."_

_"She enjoyed rough sex?"_ Buchanan translates unnecessarily...

_"Rough...sounds wrong...it wasn't whips and chains, nobody really felt pain, it wasn't some crazy S &M dungeon...she just didn't like gentle touching, gentle foreplay...and slow, soft sex..."_

The fact that **he** is trying to defend my supposed, sexual preferences makes me queasy, and I can hear John groaning softly at this outrage, beside me...

 _"So she enjoyed sex more vigorous, than gentle?"_ the lawyer clarifies coldly...

 _"Your Honor!"_ Barba exclaims " _This is an outrageous intrusion into the victim's right to privacy...her sexual history is not up for discussion!"_

_"Your Honor, my learned colleague is incorrect, he opened the door on this line of questioning, by introducing the investigation report for the accusations she previously made, these questions relate directly to my client's previous knowledge of the woman in question...at the time of the report...it would be prejudicial to my client to deny him the right to respond to the same allegations, especially when they have such relevance to the current proceedings..."_

The judge takes a moment to consider the differing viewpoints before overruling Barba... _"Don't make me regret giving you a little leeway Counselor!"_ she warns the defense...

 _"She prefers more vigorous sex?"_ Buchanan repeats...

His client nods thoughtfully _..."Yes, she does..."_

 _"So her top and bra are torn, her hand is inside your pants? I understand this is usually a fiercely private thing, and is not easy to discuss in an open courtroom, but can you tell us what happened next?"_ the lawyer prompts...

_"She pulled my hands to the waistband of her jeans, she was rubbing...between her legs...moving...I could barely get the button on the skintight pants open...she told me to 'hurry up',...they were very body-hugging, hard to get down...she started shoving them too...she couldn't open her legs to me, so she just kicked at them, shoving her underwear down impatiently too, until she could get her legs open around me...I didn't rip the pants, she did...as she spread her legs for me...she didn't care about them...she just shoved **my** pants down **enough**..."_

_"I'm sorry for the invasion of your privacy, but can you tell the court the rest...?"_ Buchanan apologizes bashfully...

_"I started to say we needed a condom...but she tugged me down onto her...using her legs...pulling me into her..._

_She was...wet..."_ **He** flinches visibly at this word, _"...but I'm...pretty large...she always liked that first...entrance...into her..."_

I have to concentrate, to not vomit at these words...struggling with the split screen view playing in my head, of what he is describing, versus the reality...gasping as I remember the pain as he pushed into me for the first time...my body completely unprepared for the invasion...

 _"I'm so sorry...I can't...I just can't..."_ I hear John whisper from behind his tears, as he leaves as quietly and quickly as he can...unable to make even the barest contact with me, as his hand pats the air above my arm...

I feel almost, relieved that he has gone...I wish no one else could hear this, either...

_"I told her we shouldn't be doing it, that we should stop...but she kept telling me 'no, don't stop'...telling me to hurry up, before we get interrupted...slamming her body against mine, telling me to go harder, faster...to 'fuck her like she remembers'...to hold her down...to **get her off**...she was arching up at me, trying to get me to hold her down...her arm hit me at one point, before I could grab it..."_

_"When she arched up at you in pleasure...could that have looked to an observer, at the wrong angle, like you were slamming her onto the floor?"_ Buchanan refers back to John's testimony that he had seen **him** slamming me into the ground...

 _"I suppose it could, if you didn't know... her..."_ **he** confirms, once more alluding to a preference for rough sex...

_"And when she hit you, as you grabbed for her arm...to that same observer couldn't that have looked like **you** hit **her**?"_

_"Definitely..."_ **he** verifies, _"I barely even felt the blow, so I'm sure I hardly reacted to it... but I heard the smack"_

The whole jury looks uncomfortable, trying not to look at the man relaying these details, but there are a few clear glances in my direction...some of them plainly, considering me making these demands...

 _"But you were interrupted?"_ Buchanan asks...

_"I didn't know anyone was there...she was still moaning... she was pushing back against me, every time I moved...trying to get 'my full length' inside her... we were both **close**..."_

_" **Close?** To orgasm?"_ the lawyer probes.

 _"Yeah!"_ **He** answers quickly...again mixing embarrassment and smugness into the twisted pull of his mouth...

_"So what happened then?"_

_"A guy came flying at us, at **me**...he knocked me off her...he was furious...I thought he may be her boyfriend..."_

_"He says you cursed at him?"_ Buchanan asks nonchalantly...

 **He** looks sheepish at this... _"I was **really** close! Frustrated, in that moment, at being left...unsatisfied..."_

 _"Makes sense to me...!"_ Buchanan agrees as Barba once more objects, his aggravation instantly clear in his tone, and I'd imagine in his very expressive features...

The defense lawyer apologizes again, and retracts his statement...but it has been heard and no doubt, echoed silently by some of the jury...

 _"Did you say that he 'could have her' and 'she wasn't hardly worth it anyway'?"_ Buchanan asks carefully...

The defendant chews his lips for a moment before nodding, _"I know I said something like that...I'm not proud of it...it was a disgusting thing to say...I have no excuse, I just believed that her boyfriend had **interrupted** us...My tongue acted without consulting my brain...I apologize for that..."_

 **He** really looks uncomfortable as he parries the question, and for a moment I believe that maybe he was truly ashamed of his words...but then I realize it is not his words to John that are causing his discomfort, it's the fact that he is trying to make an apology he doesn't mean, sound sincere...

_"Is that why you made no complaint about the witness 'kneeing' you in the groin and punching you?"_

**He** nods slowly..." _I knew I deserved it...I would have done the same, if not worse, to a man I found my wife cheating with..."_

 _"But you said something else...didn't you?"_ Buchanan is relentless...

_"I shouted at her, to remind her, this was her choice...my voice was raw, I was still doubled over from the kick in the balls...I can understand how he felt it was threatening, with the story she told him...and I called her a name I shouldn't have...it was a bad choice...I was angry, and in pain, and worried..."_

" _So were you surprised when the police showed up not even an hour later?"_

_"Not surprised, not really...I guess I was worried, maybe even suspected that she would **need** to make more accusations, once we were interrupted...to explain things away...to try to keep her secrets..."_

_"You expected it?"_ his lawyer asks in surprise, _"...but yet you stayed at your place of work, made no attempt to hide your clothing, or any evidence...?"_

 **He** lifts his head, his stance almost proud...

_"I knew that I had made a mistake, I had slept with someone I shouldn't have...but I did nothing wrong...well, I did betray my wife's trust, so I can't say I did nothing wrong...I did nothing **criminal**...I had no reason to fear the police, or any investigation...I knew there was a high probability that I would face some sort of charge...but I have trust in the system, in the jury...I know that even though I may have to pay a price personally, for my bad choices, once again, I have done nothing to warrant legal consequences..."_

_"You mention personal consequences?"_ Buchanan takes the bait...

_"My personal life is once more, in a shambles...my wife has been incredible, she is standing with me here, but we have a lot of work to do, to rebuild our relationship...she, very understandably, is angry that I could be stupid enough to allow my body to make such an important decision...she is worried that the unprotected sex I had, could put her at risk of some sort of sexually transmitted infection too...I have had to explain **this** to my children...They're older now, and the questions have been unbearable...we've had to tell them way more than we wanted to, to prevent them being destroyed by bad information...but it has meant exposing them to things they shouldn't have to deal with...and leaving them more afraid of things they should be able to enjoy innocently...I worry that my boys will be negatively impacted by this, in their own sexual lives as they grow...This has had a huge effect on my family..."_

_"There have also been consequences at work, have there not?"_

_"I have no work..."_ he answers bluntly, _"I was working on a casual basis...a zero hour contract if you like...and the company can't afford to hire me, for fear of negative publicity or loss of work...I can only hope that even though my reputation has been decimated, when this is all over, I can find a place in the industry I love once more..."_

_"What about the woman who made the allegations, could you work with her?"_

_"No! I don't think so! I don't think it would be wise...but I'd like to think that neither of us would have to lose our livelihood...that we could work in separate circles..."_

_"But would you be able to comfortably, watch a friend working in close proximity to her?"_

**He** bites his lip, " _It wouldn't be fair to damage her reputation even further, but...it would be difficult to leave my friends open...I don't know...I think I would need to really think about it, maybe even seek some advice..."_

I'm completely frozen in disbelief! How has he managed to come across as the wronged party in this whole affair? How has he managed to describe a supposedly consensual sexual encounter with none of the vulgar terms and lewd attitude, he is renowned for? How did he manage to make his point without making the jury and courtroom cringe with intimate detail? All the anatomical terms I struggled with, in my telling of what happened, were absent in his version...there were no penises, no vaginas...no breasts... and I'm sure the jury are much more comfortable with this!

He kept mentioning his wife and family, as if their existence meant it was impossible that he could have done what he was accused of!

Everything about him has been carefully tailored to be the 'harmless dad'...

He didn't even admit to being angry at the supposed false accusations...reminding people that he had left me _'feeling used'_...making it sound like he was thoughtful, like he felt bad for the way he had _'hurt my feelings'._..

How can the jury see the callous man I had described, hurting me, forcing his body into mine, as I cried with pain and fear at being so completely overpowered, in the man who doesn't want to see me _'lose my livelihood'_ and wouldn't want to _'damage my reputation'_ any further?

How is this the same man who **raped** me?

I replay the images that were seared into my memory, again, searching for where I could have given him the idea I wanted it...picking apart every action, trying to decode where I gave him consent?

Was it in the silent shock when he first touched me?

When he shoved me up against the wall and my mouth just hung open...?

Did he really believe that my movements were made in pleasure? As I tried to buck him off me, did that look like I wanted him...?

When he shoved his knee in between mine, levering my legs apart...did my resistance feel so pathetic, that he thought I just opened them to him?

Did he think that I was tilting my hips, inviting penetration, when his body pushed them so wide I was afraid they'd be dislocated and I struggled to soothe the pain?

When his fingers moved between my legs, and I gasped out a strangled _'no'_ , did he think I was refusing foreplay because I was ready for him?

When he grasped his hardness and shoved it inside me...did he believe the howl that escaped my throat, was a moan of pleasure?

When my body tried to clamp down, to stop him, when he felt like sandpaper slicing into me...did he think I enjoyed that?

When he threw the word _'Frigid'_ at me...how could he believe my tears weren't from the pain?

When he rubbed me, to increase **his** pleasure...did he think I wanted that?

But he raised his chest up off me, slamming me onto the concrete, and then ploughed back into me so hard my body was pushed away from him and he had to pull me back...he knew I didn't want that! He laughed at my tears...

Even though I know he couldn't have thought his 'attentions' were welcome, I almost can't see how **it** could possibly have happened...

The movement of everyone getting to their feet pulls me from my reverie, the fear of attack too ingrained in me, now, to avoid flinching, panic stricken, at the impending violence the sudden movement must signal...but no one is trying to hurt me. The judge has simply called an adjournment to the proceedings for the day...

I watch **him** step down from the stand, hugging his wife...shaking hands elatedly, with his lawyer...it feels like he has just won...or I have just lost...

The jury parade out, many of them looking towards the defendant, not looking away as he returns their gaze...and it slowly dawns on me, maybe I really have just lost...

The defense are all smiles as they make their way out of the courtroom, Larry smiling widely as he wraps his arms around his friend...that unquestioning acceptance, reminds me that **I** am the pariah now...

My lawyer is still seated, angrily shoving files into his briefcase.

When he gets to his feet and turns to us, his expression is rueful...

 _"I had hoped to undermine his story, a bit, before we recessed for the day! Buchanan timed it just right..."_ he mumbles crossly, before he seems to recognize the blank stare of defeat on my face...

 _"I know you don't need me to tell you that was bad..."_ he admits softly _"...he was extremely well prepped...he had made very little statement so he had very little possibility of tripping himself up with inconsistencies...and it was almost the first time the jury have heard Buchanan's case...it was smart!"_

Even in my current state, I can't miss the look Olivia is giving him...it is a very clear mixture of _'shut up!'_ and _'you're admiring Buchanan's work? Really?'._

The lawyer gives her a look of disapproval and turns back to me, _"I can't imagine how hard that was for you...and it does hurt us that I didn't get to start cross-examination today...the jury get the night to reflect on his statement...but it's not over! His whole testimony was scripted! His reactions carefully coached and rehearsed...Buchanan can't possibly have prepared him to that degree for me! I need to unsettle him, to allow the jury to see behind the suit, and mask..."_

I nod because the man seems to have stopped talking, as he waits on some reaction from me...I'm not sure why I chose to nod...maybe I should have shaken my head?

Thankfully Fin and John returning is enough to temporarily distract from me...and my reaction...

I'm not sure when Fin left? Did he leave when John did? Or did he stay until after the court was adjourned, only going to find John then?

All attention returns to the lawyer as he unbuttons the jacket he as only just closed, laying down his briefcase...

_"Some of the jury were grateful of the alternative 'explanation'...it was more comfortable to them...some of them didn't buy it...some are confused; each witness is changing their opinion...they would have been ready to convict after your testimony, were even more sure after John's testimony, but now they're confused...they can identify with some of what **he** said, or his family situation..."_

_" **He** didn't use language or detail that made them cringe..."_ I whisper softly, unable to hide my defeat...

 _"No, he didn't..."_ Barba allows, _"...but at least two jurors were suspicious of that...I think they felt it was too... **easy**...The language and detail you used were uncomfortable, for you and for the jury to hear, but it also showed openness...that you weren't hiding anything..."_

Olivia and Fin nod in quick agreement with this...

_"A rape trial, is horrendously difficult, because it is so many of these seemingly insignificant details that can swing it in deliberation...that feeling of the jurors **not** being forced to confront uncomfortable images, can backfire! The truth is, the men I prosecute are very seldom, psychopathic monsters, who have long **documented** histories of perpetrating sexual assaults. They are usually ordinary looking men, who have no real criminal history, despite any previous, unreported, wrongdoing. They try to play on the jury's familiarity...reminding them of their own families, friends...they try to come up with an alternative story, and try to distance themselves from any injuries... "_

_"Just like **he** did, mentioning his wife and kids...saying I got hurt when he was...stopped...that he didn't rip my jeans, they **got** ripped..."_ I whisper looking to John, afraid he will think I am blaming him for my injuries...but I'm surprised when even though my friend grimaces, he also nods...

The lawyer looks me in the eye and nods... _"You've told me before he has a temper?"_

I shiver slightly, remembering bouts of his anger years ago, when I was so desperate for him to stop hurting me that I threatened to go to management... _"Yes! He doesn't like to think anyone is making fun of him...or questioning how much of a man he is..."_ I tell my lawyer, understanding that he needs any hints I have, about how to get under the mask the defendant is hiding behind...

Barba smiles back at me, with a quick look around him... _"Anything in particular?"_ he asks, his brows knotted...

Olivia starts to intercede, telling him _"Maybe we can do this tomorrow morning?"_ as she watches my eyes close...

 _"No!"_ I tell her softly...hoping she can understand that **this** makes me feel like it’s not all out of my control...in a strange way **this** gives me some hope back...

John takes a gentle hold of the hand that reaches out, _"She'll tell us when she needs to stop..."_ he backs me quietly...

I allow all the things I've tried to hide from, all the deeply buried memories to claw their way out...searching for something Barba could possibly use against **him**...

 _"Maybe..."_ I whisper, remembering back...


	30. Exposed?

After I had shared, with my lawyer, any clues I could think of, that may unsettle **him** enough to expose his true nature, Olivia uncertainly proposed that she drive me home, all the while, with one eye on John...

When he, also voiced his own offer, they both patiently waited to see what **I** wanted...and Olivia smiled widely when I took John up on his invitation...

He eagerly led me out to his car and as we buckled in, I quietly told my friend I didn't want to discuss the day at court, it was _"too much right now"..._ and he seemed to understand, never pushing me...just reminding me that he is _"always there to talk and listen..."_

We stopped at the grocery store, and cooked together, as we have done so many times over the last months...chatting easily, even as we avoided the subject that left us disinterested in the food we made...

Things are not quite as they used to be, between us, we are once again, redefining our new normal; I don't thoughtlessly curl into him anymore, and he is very conscious of my physical space, allowing me to initiate the majority of our contact, but the awkwardness is slowly easing...

He sat watching TV with me, our legs thrown up on the coffee table, a small gap between us, until his eyes started to close, and I shooed him home to sleep, promising he could pick me up the next morning...

I also, exhaustedly, fell into bed...the escape slumber promised, from all the tumult replaying in my head, was too attractive to deny...and when the ghosts came for me once again, I was able to self soothe...slowly falling back to sleep...as soon as I confirmed I was safe...

The rest was sorely needed, and when the alarm drags me into the morning, I find I feel slightly restored...

I'm glad to see that John also looks better rested, when he pulls up at my apartment. His face is clean-shaven.

The worry and stress isn't gone, but he looks slightly less haunted...

As I climb into the car, I find a fresh coffee awaiting me, and he holds out a veggie breakfast sub...

 _"I didn't get up in time to eat...I thought you may be hungry too?"_ he tells me...

I take the sandwich from him, and he wordlessly unwraps his bacon sub, munching into it, as he pulls back out into traffic. I can see he is trying to make sure I eat, but also trying not to make a big deal of it...

I open the paper, peeking inside at the spicy cheese and egg combo I used to have many mornings, when my commute to work began far too early to consider breakfasting before leaving the house...

While I would have said I wasn't hungry, and had, once again, foregone breakfast, the sight and smell of the food has me lustily craving it...and I don't miss the satisfied smile on his face, as I hungrily bite into it.

All too soon though, we are standing back in that same dreaded hallway in the courthouse...with Olivia and Fin... The intense dejection of yesterday, is mixed with feverish anticipation, and a slightly ominous trepidation...there is very little idle chat, each of us aware that this has the potential to be the worst yet...we are all pulled between wanting it to be easier than yesterday, but knowing the worse it is, the better it probably is, for my case...

Barba strolls in, resplendent in his most colorful ensemble yet...his confidence shining through immediately...

 _"Are you ready for this?"_ he asks me softly...

I take a deep breath, nodding carefully...

 _"Thank you...",_ I whisper to him, for giving me back some semblance of control over my own destiny...

He nods sharply, striding towards the door, holding it open questioningly for us...

 _"Let's get him..."_ he whispers to me as I pass...

I retake the seat behind Barba, I have begun to consider 'mine', and realize John is still beside me...

 _"You don't have to..."_ I tell him again...

 _"I know..."_ is all he says as he sits down beside me...the two detectives flank us, Olivia in her usual place, next to me, ready to hold my hand...

I pay no heed to the defense's arrival...keeping my gaze locked on Barba...

Even as the judge is announced, and she makes her way back onto the bench, my eyes never leave the man who now, holds all my hopes...

 _"Good Morning!"_ the judge begins, _"Mr. Smith?"_ she asks quickly as **he** retakes his place on the witness stand.

 _"I'd like to remind you that you are still under oath!?"_ she tells him...

 _"Yes your Honor!"_ **he** answers self-assuredly...

_"Mr. Barba, the witness is yours..."_

Barba nods once, shuffling his papers, before standing...

 _"You called her a name, you told the courtroom...when she was leaving with the witness, John...what did you call her?"_ my lawyer asks evenly...

 _"I called her...'a slut'..."_ the defendant answers hesitantly, clearly unsettled by the question...looking from his lawyer to the jury, as he pushes the word out...

 _" **You** were the one in a steady relationship, cheating on the wife and children you **claim** to adore...and **you** call **her** a **'slut'**...?"_ The disdain in Barba's tone is cutting... _"You aren't really the gentleman you are trying to portray yourself as, are you?"_

_"I made a mistake...I shouldn't have allowed my body's desires to overrule my better judgment...and I shouldn't have spoken to them like that...it was... unforgivable..."_

His nose scrunches up, as he forces the final word out, and I hope the Jury recognize the gesture for disgust, and not some sort of embarrassment...

_"To **them**? Don't you mean to **her**? Or do women count so little, they don't even deserve a **measly** apology...?"_

_"Of course!"_ **he** fires back before pulling himself back under control _..."This is difficult, I misspoke...She deserves an apology for being called that, and he deserves one too for hearing it be said..."_

_"She deserves an apology for being called **that**? Are you too afraid to repeat the word in case the jury can see through you?"_

_"Your Honor!"_ Buchanan bristles...this time it is Barba who apologizes and retracts his words, before the judge can say anything...quickly turning his focus...

_"The witness, John, heard you threaten that you 'didn't care how hard she fought you...it would make no difference...'?"_

There is a moment of silence, as **he** seems to try to regain his footing...mentally scrambling to find his planned dodge for this question, should it be asked...

 _"...We were both **close**...about to cum...I know I told her not to fight **it** , that **it** wouldn't make a difference...meaning her...'orgasm'..."_, the clearly unfamiliar word trips him up slightly, its feel unnatural on his tongue _,"...maybe that's what her **friend** heard...and misunderstood...I was telling her to just let go and allow herself to feel the pleasure..."_

 **He** barely conceals a smirk as he successfully bats away what could have been yet another difficult question. My stomach drops...this is not how it was supposed to go... **he** was supposed to show the jury the hidden monster...

 _"But your hand was wrapped around her neck? Are we to believe she also enjoyed being strangled? That she took pleasure in having her neck marked like this?"_ Barba demands, grabbing a copy of the picture of the bruises on my neck, to remind the jury...

Once more, the swift change in the direction of my lawyer's questioning, causes **him** an awkward pause...his carefully choreographed story, not responding to Barba's speedy pace, and the questions' unpredictable, but logical order...

_"She enjoyed having a particular spot on her neck stimulated with my tongue...she was writhing under me...she nearly head butted me a couple of times, so I just stopped her from moving too much, from hitting me...I checked it wasn't too hard for her...I know that my hand was pushed down hard when I was tackled off her...I think that's when her neck got marked..."_

Barba shakes his head in disbelief at this...

_"And we are to believe that with your obvious size and weight differential, she was able to stop you from leaving the storage room if you wanted to?"_

_"I didn't want to push her or hurt her in anyway, I could have overpowered her...but I may have injured her..."_ **he** mutters making eye contact with the jury...

_"You didn't want to **injure** her, ESCAPING...? ...But you happily left her with a concussion, bruised ribs, friction burns, vaginal tearing, and numerous cuts and bruises from, what we are to believe, was a **consensual** sexual encounter? And still you **claim** that despite this litany of injuries, she was **enjoying** herself?"_

**He** starts to glare at my lawyer...his teeth visibly grinding in anger, as he tries to mentally wrangle his prepared answers...as Barba reminds the jury of the injuries, flashing through pictures...

 _"I wasn't **happy** she had any injuries...the concussion was probably from her **boyfriend** tackling me!"_ he spits the word 'boyfriend' out with real, undisguised, hatred _..."The friction burns, the cuts and bruises, were most likely from the **enthusiastic** way she moved against me...She wanted it!"_

 _"She wanted her vagina to tear?"_ Barba growls back quickly...refusing to allow **him** time to sort through his prearranged material, forcing **him** to answer more naturally...

 **He** can't seem to help a small grin escaping... _"She wanted me inside her! She liked it hard and fast! She knew I'm not 'small'...I got the impression it had been a while for her..."_

A few members of the jury seem a bit bothered by his words, and he seems to realize he has fucked up...rushing to try to soften his last statement...

_"I would usually take much more **care** of a...'partner'...I'd go more slowly...but **she** didn't want that!...And when I tried to ...stimulate her...she told me she just wanted me inside her!...The fact that she was hurt like **that** , was upsetting...I don't hurt women..."_

Barba goes for his jugular, _" **She wasn't hurt like that! You** hurt her like that! **You** caused her to tear as you **forced** your erection inside her!?"_

Now the anger is really starting to show in the defendant, his polished, gentlemanly act, slipping as he spits back at Barba, _"I gave her what she wanted! What she begged for...! "_

 _"And what was that?"_ Barba pushes, not allowing **him** time to carefully select his language, to self-censor... _"What did she beg for?"_

 _"She **wanted** me to fuck her...hard!"_ **he** fires back...Barba's question making **him** instantly defensive...

 _"Yeah, that sounds exactly like what everyone would want in their workplace, torn clothing, vaginal tearing and friction burns...!"_ Barba announces...

Buchanan is on his feet as the judge starts to admonish my lawyer for his comment.

Barba apologizes once more, and acknowledges the judge's demands that he _"comport himself in a manner suitable to the courtroom!"._

 _"Are you in the habit of having sex with crying women?"_ Barba asks coldly.

 _"What!?"_ the defendant bellows back without thinking...outraged at his sexual prowess even remotely being questioned, with the implication that he couldn't pleasure his partners...making him forget about appearances...

" _The question is extremely simple! Do you **often** have sex with crying women? Or did you make a special exception, a special **allowance** in this case?"_

 _" **She** wasn't crying!"_ **he** barks back at my lawyer menacingly...seemingly taking offence at the implication beneath Barba's question... and also the subtle insinuation that he can't understand a 'simple' question, as my lawyer 'dumbs down' his language...

 _"The witness has made a statement, **and** testified that she was! **She** has also said that she was crying...? Why would a woman who wanted your...attentions...be crying **if** she got what she wanted?"_ my lawyer continues to needle...emphasizing the word _'if'_ very deliberately...

 _" **Oh she got what she wanted alright!** Those sounds he identified weren't sobs! She was moaning! She's really vocal when she's **enjoying** sex, the **boyfriend** must not have heard them before..." _**he** spits angrily, his tone and posture making his implication clear _"...The tears only started when she had an audience and wanted to sell her ludicrous story!"_ he continues indignantly...

_"So she started crying, when John began to witness what was happening?"_

_"Yeah..."_ **he** says cockily...his arms folding across his chest, pulling himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at my lawyer...

 _"So you **were** having sex with a crying woman and that didn't give you pause?"_ Barba demands, stepping closer... _"Didn't that make you question whether she had withdrawn consent, if you ever even **had** her consent?"_

 _"No!"_ the defendant stutters _..."I mean the tears only started when **he** interrupted..."_

_"So Mr. Smith, I'm confused, are you saying she **wasn't** crying, or she was just trying to convince John?"_

_"She wasn't crying when were screwing! She was moaning and groaning and loving it! Begging me to go faster! The tears only started when **he** interrupted..."_

The well-dressed man, retires to his desk taking a drink from the water glass, consulting his notes...looking up at the surly defendant...

 _"Mr. Smith, so all those years ago...you felt she was flirting with you, because she 'played with her hair' and 'leaned over things'? Does that mean **I'm** flirting with you too? I'm sure I've run my hand through my hair multiple times...I've been told it's somewhat of a habit I have...? I'm sure I've also leaned over...Am **I** flirting with you too?"_ Barba asks, getting right up close to the stand, leaning in towards the man who darts back in his seat... **his** disgust toward the idea of the man flirting with him, all too obvious...

 _" **I** didn't say that flicking her hair, or leaning over, where the ways she flirted with me! That's what witnesses saw...in private, she was a lot less subtle!"_ **He** retorts quickly... squaring up to the well dressed lawyer defensively... _"She wanted me!..."_

 _"What did she do in private Mr. Smith?"_ Barba jumps on him immediately, seemingly trying to push him to make some misstep... " _to convince you that she wanted you?"_

_"She wasn't the goody-goody, butter-wouldn't-melt, angel in private...she knew what she was doing!...She was clearly **very**... **experienced**!...She knew her way around a **dick**! She made plenty of demands...kinky shit, then and now!"_

I can see Buchanan silently fuming...he has no grounds on which to object, but can't quite hide his displeasure at his client's substantial veer off script...

Barba allows a moment for the jury to digest this slip...

_"So Mr. Smith, show me what she did, to first demonstrate her interest in you, all those years ago?"_

The defendant is getting increasingly flustered as my lawyer plays up to him...offering to allow **him** to recreate my supposed advances...

Once more **he** pulls away from my lawyer as if he has just been scalded...crossing his arms defensively... _"She...would touch me...make sexual innuendos..."_

 _"So if her interest in you, was so **overt** , why did your colleague feel the need to warn you about your behavior with the woman in question, if she welcomed your advances?" _my lawyer continues...

_"He warned me about her cos he could see that she could possibly cause me problems...I was blinded by the fact that she was stroking my ego..."_

_"But you **claim** it was a lot more than your ego she was stroking? If that was the truth why didn't you make that case during this investigation?" _ Barba demands, pointing to the investigation report he has laid on his desk...

_"My representative, assigned by the union, advised me not to answer the accusations. He said they were baseless and there was no need to put myself and my family through that upset..."_

It sounds like the man on the stand has found his way back to the script his lawyer had laid out for him...even though his rage is barely contained...

 _"So you were happy for her accusations to go unanswered?"_ Barba continues to needle...

_"No! But I followed the advice I was given...now I wish I had told the full story in as much graphic detail as it would have taken! Told everyone what she was really like, what she wanted me to do..."_

_"What she wanted you to do? So you **couldn't** give her everything she wanted?"_ Barba asks quickly...

 _"I could do anything **I** wanted to her!"_ **he** roars, as his lawyer jumps to his feet...

 _"Objection your Honor!"_ Buchanan hastily interjects...

 _" **She** doesn't tell me what **I** can do..."_ **he** continues trying to ignore the dagger looks Buchanan is throwing at him...

 _"Your Honor, Counsel is clearly attacking my client..."_ Buchanan shouts over the defendant, continuing to blast him with looks that scream 'shut up!'...

 **He** finally seems to understand, and shuts up, scowling at my lawyer menacingly, while Buchanan finishes his objection...

The judge slightly admonishes Barba and reminds him to behave...

 _"Mr. Smith, you have made a lot of reference to her proclivities, do you share those same proclivities?"_ Barba asks simply...

 **His** brow knots, as he looks to his lawyer...his sullenness increasing...

No answer is forthcoming...so my lawyer repeats the question... _"Do you share the same proclivities you have attributed to her?”_

Once more, the defendant looks towards his own lawyer, as Barba seems to muse over the delay...

 _"What?"_ **He** finally snarls...

 _"Oh, I do apologize!"_ My lawyer mutters exaggeratedly, _"You didn't understand the question!"_ he adds as though it is a revelation to him... _"Do you also have the same appetites,...do you **like**...rough sex..., as you say she does?"_

Barba has spoken each word clearly, enunciating each part; emphasizing the most simplistic word he can find to repeat the question. The result of his care, although not cause for objection to Buchanan, seems to completely enrage the defendant...

" _I'm not fucking stupid! She was a fucking cock-tease! The stupid bitch played all innocent ...but she wanted to be held down! She wanted a big dick slammed into her! She wanted to be stretched out by my cock! She wanted to be **used**! She got what she wanted...I'm only sorry I didn't get to...!"_

 _"What other 'joys' had you got planned for her?"_ Barba shoots back sarcastically...when **he** seems to realize what he was saying, and immediately shuts up...

Once more Buchanan is on his feet... _"Your Honor! This is improper!"_

I get the impression that Buchanan's objection is rather tenuous legally, and that Barba was happy to invite it, for the opportunity to finish off **his** statement for the jury...to take any doubt from **his** meaning...but my lawyer raises his hands in a gesture of submission, and withdraws the question...

Now, the panel of my peers seems to be looking at **him** with some doubt...

As I look to the man beside me, he seems relieved...he smiles broadly at Fin, nodding at the detective when he whispers something to him...

The detective catches my gaze and gives me what looks like a proud smile.

I try to force a smile back at him, as I cast my eyes down, fighting the feeling that I'm out of synch with the world again.

Olivia reaches her hand over to take mine, " _That was really good! Barba got him to show who he is..."_ she soothes softly, seemingly feeling my confusion.

I don't raise my eyes, not wanting her to see how I'm feeling, but dip my head a couple of times, in seeming agreement, hoping it is enough to head off the conversation.

Barba retakes his seat with a last disdainful look at the man on the witness stand, _"I'm done with this witness your Honor!"._

The Judge dismisses **him** , but instead of feeling the same happiness that seems to be beaming on the faces of my friend and the two cops, I'm crippled by sadness. As the people around me seem to be celebrating, I'm overcome by a gloomy despondency...

I begin to understand that **him** accidentally telling the court that he could to anything he wanted to me, is the closest I will ever come to, to an admission...

I will never get a real explanation...

I will never know what I did, to let **him** think that what he did was ok?...What told **him** I would stay quiet?...What made **me** his target?

The trial is nearly over. I'm trying to prepare myself for the jury of my peers to return a verdict that tells me that I somehow invited what was done to me... I don't know what I expected from the proceedings; maybe some answers?...some sort of 'take away lesson' of what I can do to avoid men like him in the future?...some assurance that keeping quiet and not pursuing **real** charges when he hurt me before, didn't cost some other woman?...but it feels like the only thing I can take away from all **this** , is that my life, my feelings, my shame, have been thrown out on public display for everyone to judge...

I know that my lawyer has done an amazing job. He has managed to show snatches of my monster...but I take no pleasure, no joy from that unmasking... I know that Barba was intent on showing that **he** is capable of what I have accused him of, despite his innocuous appearance and his oft mentioned wife and kids; that his story didn't stand up to close scrutiny; that my statement was the truth...and perhaps his cross examination has gone some way towards these goals...but I wanted **more**. I know that it would be a risk for Barba to continue asking questions now, that it would only give **him** the opportunity to fix what his temper has shown...but I have so many more things I need answers for, so many more horrors I want **him** to have to address...

All of the heavily disputed, allusions to what he did to me, beyond the pictured bruises and marks on my skin, have done nothing to lessen the huge effects of his actions.

All of the subtle inconsistencies that Barba has unmasked in **his** story...they haven't really undone any of the harm I have suffered, firstly as he pinned me down to a concrete floor, and again, as he trashed my character here in this courtroom...

All the lies he has told, have only increased my injury count...

Even when he began to admit that he could do anything he wanted to me...it didn't go far enough...

I know it can only help my case...but somehow it brings me no relief to hear **his** carefully constructed façade crumble... The confirmation that he thought so little of me, and his disregard for whether I wanted what he forced on me, doesn't fill me with confidence or certainty. It does nothing to assuage the guilt that eats me up, or the shame that controls me...

 **He** literally forced his way inside me. That intrusion can never be cancelled.

I spent my birthday laying out all my secrets, being torn apart by vicious questions...how long will pass, until my birthday no longer **only** commemorates **that**?

How long will pass before a man finding me attractive, no longer terrifies me, because it feels like a threat?

How long will it be until my body feels like my own? Until I stop hating, and doubting myself?

How many months, even years, will fly by, before I trust that someone won't hurt me, just because that's what my instincts tell me? How long will it be before I trust my own judgment?

How long do I have to wait to feel like a whole person again?

The damage **he** has done, cannot be undone...there's no satisfaction in this for me, there's no surprise in **his** admissions...and it still may not be enough for me to win this case...there's still doubt, even inside me...I may have laid everything out, but I may not win...and then what comes next?


	31. Not Consensual

The damage **he** has done, cannot be undone...there's no satisfaction in this for me, there's no surprise in **his** admissions...and yet, it still may not be enough for me to win this case...there's still doubt, even inside me...I may have laid everything out, told nearly all my secrets, and exposed my shame, but I may not win...and **then** , what comes next?

I can't control the tears that roll down my face as **he** is dismissed by the judge, it feels like an ominous premonition of the eventual outcome of the proceedings, as **he** walks away smiling...

 **He** glares at me, seemingly confident in his win now, not even bothering to try to hide the intimidating glare he shoots at me, but I avert my eyes quickly...John grasps my hand tightly, and I can feel anger rolling off him...I'm sure that even as I look away, John is staring him down for me...

Olivia whispers soothing words to me but they barely make any impact...

Buchanan gets to his feet, _"Your Honor, the defense rests!"_

 _"I think we shall adjourn, to give Counsel time to prepare their closing statements..."_ the judge begins...

Barba interrupts confidently... _"Your Honor, If I may?"_

She seems slightly surprised, but nods her acquiescence...

_"If the court has no objection, I'm ready to deliver the prosecution's closing statement **now**?"_

The judge consults her watch, nodding gently when Buchanan raises no objection...

I have nothing left to lose...all my energy, my hope, has been sucked away, as the last few days have progressed, so I find I'm almost glad to just get it over and done with...

My lawyer gets to his feet, carefully closing the button on his jacket as he makes his way over to the end of the Jury Box, next to the empty witness stand...throwing a last glance towards me, with a subtle nod trying to reassure me...

Olivia takes a hold of my other hand, as Barba takes a deep breath...

_"This was not consensual! It was **not** a rough, sexual encounter...Mr. Smith **raped** the victim!_

_She was doing her job, looking for a piece of equipment in a well lit storage area, recreating a journey she had made countless times the same day...She didn't feel she was at high risk, and she was very attuned to balancing risk...She had already spent years taking extra precautions to try and ensure her safety, after she had reported incidents of sexual harassment and sexual assault at the hands of the defendant. These accusations were investigated, internally, in her workplace, because she didn't want anyone to lose their job, and because she was afraid of the consequences she would face, were she to bring the true degree of those accusations to the attention of the police..._

_For years she swallowed down the immense, personal, effects, of what she went through, and the disappointment she felt at the investigation results, only ever asking those that worked around her, to help keep a safe distance between the man she had accused and herself, she didn't demand that everyone believe her, nor did she demand that he lose his job..._

_But on that day in late January, she was placed in the situation she had feared for so long...She was cornered, alone, by Mr. Smith._

_She was overcome by fear...as he shoved her up against a wall, caging her in place with an arm on each side of her, pining her in place, with his body..._

_She did nothing to invite or encourage, his actions, but in her fear, she couldn't find her voice to scream..._

_All that she could do was struggle against a man, much bigger than her, to try to escape him..._

_But that struggle turned him on...she could feel his growing erection pressing into her...I can't imagine how terrifying that realization must have been...as he laughed at her sobs..._

_Then when she found her voice, she pleaded "no", but he ignored those pleas, he tripped her, her head slamming off the ground as she fell...and she found herself pinned to a concrete floor, the defendant on top of her, pulling at her clothes...as she fought in any way she could..._

_But Mr. Smith punished her for that struggle. Once more slamming her head off the concrete...lifting some of his weight off her torso, grabbing the shirt he had pushed up, and using it to shove her down...her head thumping audibly, as it hit..._

**_She_ ** _didn't tear her jeans in a rush to pull them down for him... he shoved his hand inside them, tearing the zip...tearing them even further as he tried to push them off her...but the end of the leg wouldn't go over her sneakers...so he just kept shoving until they started to turn inside out..._

**_She_ ** _didn't open her legs to him...he jammed his knee in between hers, levering them apart...the bruises on her inner thighs confirm this...the shape of his fingers marked onto her legs as he forced them apart..._

_When his clothes were examined, there was no trace of the victim's fingerprints on the fastenings of his pants, **he** was the one to open them...not her, as he claimed she did..._

_Once again, he paid no attention to her panicked pleas for him to stop, or to her struggles, as he **forced** his erect penis into her vagina...She was terrified and her body was not prepared for the intrusion...and so her body began to tear as he pushed himself inside her...the force he entered her with, also bruising her..._

_The doctor confirmed that this would have been intensely painful..._

_His weight on top of her, bruised her ribs, and she told us she worried he would crush her...can you imagine how that must have felt?_

_The witness, John, heard cries and pleas of "no!", drawing him over to the area to investigate...He told us he was not prepared for what he came face to face with..._

_Mr. Smith thrust into the victim with enough force that even though his body was on top of her, pinning her in place, she slid along the concrete, away from him...creating the friction burns on her back, her buttocks and the backs of her arms and legs, where they scraped along the hard concrete..._

_The witness, John, saw him pull her back, dragging her along the same concrete he had already scraped her body across as his hips snapped forward...his pants were clearly open...the waistband hanging loosely across his otherwise naked, buttocks..._

_The forensic technician confirmed that there were also abrasions on Mr. Smith's penis consistent with very rough penetration...fluids found on his pants; around the fastenings confirm that they weren't fully pulled down..._

_The witness, John, saw him raise his arm, and heard the blow he landed to her face, the bruise on her cheek is evidence of this...and the defense have offered no real alternative way that the victim could have come by this injury..._

_The witness also saw the defendant raise his weight off the victim, and slam her down; John describes hearing the sickening thump of her head against the concrete..._

_He also describes in great detail, the sounds of the victim crying for Mr. Smith to stop...her heartbreaking sobs...the sound the defendant's body made as he pushed into her, describing it sounding like a hard smack, John told us it sounded like he had hit her...and the sickening wail of pain she released as the defendant pushed deeper inside her..._

_None of these sounds could be misinterpreted as moans of pleasure...the victim was in pain!_

_All of these sounds clearly, had a very detrimental impact on the witness...even all these months later, he was visibly distraught, and moved to tears as he mentally replayed them..._

_John saw the victim fighting to escape as Mr. Smith held her down..._

_John heard the defendant tell the victim that "he didn't care how hard she fought him...it would make no difference..."_

_The defendant would have us believe, that in reality, he was referencing her imminent orgasm, that he was trying to tell her to let go and allow herself to feel pleasure...how could she possibly have felt pleasure as she cried, as he held her down, as he bruised and tore her, as she kept pleading 'no', as his vicious thrusts rubbed her skin raw where it met the harsh concrete?_

_The victim was not at her most eloquent, she has explained that...in her fear and pain, she wasn't **able** to scream for "Help!", she wasn't **able** to tell anyone that may hear her cries, over the work sounds of the adjoining room, that Mr. Smith was raping her, hurting her, holding her prisoner...She fought and struggled against a man much bigger than her, sobbing and pleading with him to stop by saying "No!"...She said "No"!... "No" was the only word she could find, through her fear, her panic, her pain, her tears...'No!"...Shouldn't that have been enough?..._

_The witness, understanding that he was seeing a rape, intervened when he saw Mr. Smith wrap his hand around her neck...tackling Mr. Smith off her...John was worried for her life..._

**_This_ ** _, is how the defense would have us believe, that the victim got injured...that **this** is when her head got smashed against the concrete...but both the witness and the victim, describe her being slammed down, long before that!... **This** is when Mr. Buchanan would like us to believe the victim sustained her vaginal tears and bruising, but she has clearly described being in pain from the moment he vaginally penetrated her...Mr. Smith would like us to believe that the size of his penis was partly to blame for her vaginal injury...but the forensically trained, medical professional disputes that...Doctor Taylor was very clear that the injuries the victim suffered were, in her opinion, caused by 'aggressive initial penetration'..._

_The victim's injuries were not the result of a "slip" during sex, or the man penetrating her against her will, finally being knocked off her...Mr. Smith willfully forced his erect penis into the victim, with no thought for her consent; the damage he could do to her, both physically and emotionally; with no thought for her arousal, or for the fact that he was shoving an unwanted, foreign, object, into her, with no preparation...The friction that caused the victim to tear and feel pain, actually caused the defendant to complain, to throw an insult at her...to claim that she was 'frigid', because his actions were unwanted and she was in too much pain for her body to produce the natural lubrication that would usually reduce or completely prevent such injuries...Her body was telling him 'no' in every way it possibly could...echoing her words..._

_When he was knocked off the victim, Mr. Smith cursed at the witness, telling him "You can have her, she isn't hardly worth it anyway'..."_

_Do these sound like the first words of a man denied, what he told us, was an imminent sexual release with a consenting sexual partner, or do they sound like the words of an interrupted rapist, demeaning his victim?_

_Even if we were to believe Mr. Smith's assertion that her 'boyfriend' , and not a concerned colleague, had interrupted... why is his first instinct to denigrate the woman he is **supposedly** having sex with? Was he already trying to intimidate his victim into silence?_

_The witness admits to striking the defendant; to punching him in the face and to kneeing him in the groin...When he saw the victim struggling to cover her bruised and battered body, with torn clothing, while Mr. Smith casually re-dressed, it was the defendant's clear disregard for the victim; the marks that John could see littering her skin; and the need to protect her from any further harm, that pushed John to such an out of character action...And why did the defendant make so little mention of such a crucial fact?_

_Surely an innocent man, who hadn't hurt the woman in question, would feel outraged at this reaction?_

_Surely the fact that Mr. Smith feels he deserved those two blows, indicates a grudging acknowledgement of wrong doing, beyond a betrayal of his marriage vows?_

_The witness describes Mr. Smith as casually redressing...whereas he describes the victim as **clasping** her torn clothing to her body in fear; **flinching** when he tried to put his hooded shirt around her. John describes the victim getting to her feet **unsteadily** ; being clearly **in pain** ; **sobbing** and **wincing** at each step; being too **afraid** to call the police or seek medical attention...she just wanted to get away..._

_Mr. Smith called after her, though, when all the victim was trying to do was get away; " **you** wanted **rough**...you little **slut** ", he shouted at her..._

_Even now, with the distance of time passed, I struggle to see how this wasn't a thinly veiled threat!?_

_The victim offers no supporting account of this part of the attack...she seems to have little memory of anything past the witness stopping the assault...such was the intense, immediate, effect. Surely if she were just vindictively trying to ruin Mr. Smith's life as he claims, she would make much more of the horrible things that John witnessed? Instead of making very little reference to them... Surely if she were so intent on some sort of revenge for past 'slights', she would have been happy to call the police immediately?_

_Instead of that, the witness had to willfully disregard her pleas to "just bring her home", to get her the medical treatment she needed...as she seemed to be totally overcome by the experience she had just suffered through..._

_I know that it was a difficult decision for John to make, that he feels guilt for forcing a decision on someone who had already had far too much forced on her...but I commend him for what he did. He didn't turn away, unquestioningly, from the horror of what he was confronted by,...he intervened, when he saw something wrong being done, he called the police when he witnessed a crime, and he put his friend_ _above **everything** , to ensure she got the help she needed and deserved._

_The doctor, Ali Taylor, told us that throughout the examination the victim's 'affect' was very much in line with that of other rape victims she has treated...that her injuries, when seen singly could **possibly** , be attributed to 'rough' consensual sex, but when found all together, in one person, they were, in her opinion, more consistent with forcible rape..._

_The doctor described seeing the victim struggle with shock, flinching in fear at sudden movements, becoming visibly upset at having to undress...she describes them as good indicators of someone having suffered a recent attack..._

_Doctor Taylor also reminded us, that the examination she performed, took a number of hours, and at no time did she question any of the victim's actions or reactions. She reminded us how invasive that examination was, showing us evidence of all the injuries she found..._

_She described to us how tense the victim was at every touch, and how that tension never eased, even as the hours passed..._

_The doctor described how the victim, tried to hide injuries from her, out of shame...How hard the victim found it, to admit the pain she was in... how the doctor was forced to watch how the victim moved, to try and ensure there were no injuries missed..._

_Doctor Taylor told us how emotional the victim became, when she surmised after hours, that the victim was feeling quite severe pain in her hips...after examining her, the doctor told her that she believed muscles had been stretched painfully, but there was no visible damage, beyond the bruises that led her to speculate the pain was due to her legs being spread too wide...the victim became inconsolable, and the exam had to be temporarily suspended again, until she could be convinced that the lack of visible injury to her hips didn't mean she wanted it, and she wasn't wasting their time..._

_It may seem like a small thing, but this occurred **after** she had been poked and prodded for hours; **after** her body had been photographed and swabbed; **after** she had been bombarded with intensely intimate questions; **after** she had lain on a hospital bed, with her legs in stirrups while a doctor swabbed the most intimate parts of her body, her vagina and rectum, while pictures were taken of the tears and bruising the doctor discovered..........While she felt like she was being violated for the second time..._

_Does this sound like someone who wasn't telling the truth?_

_Lieutenant Benson has been working with rape victims for 17 years in the Special Victims Unit, and she also testified, that **all the evidence** , and the **victim's behavior** , both in those early hours, and since then, have all supported her statement...and her investigation was very clear that there is a collective feeling of guilt in the victim's workplace, that this set of circumstances were allowed to transpire, even after the victim had numerous difficult conversations to make people aware of her concerns...to try and ensure that nothing like this could happen..._

_The defendant has made a big thing of the fact that he couldn't have done any wrong, because he didn't attempt to run, or hide evidence, when the victim left their workplace in the immediate aftermath of the attack. But as the witness made very clear, the victim was in no state to make important decisions, she was in shock and terrified...the last thing the defendant heard, was the victim telling John that she just wanted to go home, declining medical intervention and declining police involvement...He most likely was **very** surprised, when the police arrived, despite his claims to the contrary...He was a man who had already escaped any serious consequences of sexually assaulting the victim, in the past, and his ego most likely lulled him into believing he had once more gotten away with it..._

_Ever since I first met the victim, she has struggled immensely with the fact that John had to witness what was being done to her; that she needed help to stop the assault; that she couldn't protect herself...She hates that she had to rely on others...but now, she is relying on you...to see through the defendant's lies, his obfuscation of the facts, his mask of gentility..._

_Please don't let her down now?_

_Do not be fooled! Mr Smith is no gentleman! We saw the mask he likes to wear in public; the mask his friend and colleague Larry has been duped by...but we also saw flashes of the man behind that mask. We saw tastes of the man the victim described...Please don't allow his disguise to let you forget the snapshots of the real man that lurks behind...Mr. Smith is a predator, don't allow him the freedom to continue preying on people such as the victim._

_Don't allow the fact that the defendant is a family man, to distract you!_

_Don't allow his rather innocuous appearance here, to discount his ability to do something we all find so horrific..._

_Imagine, rather, the flashes of temper we saw when things didn't go his way on the stand; if you were alone and pinned by him, imagine how terrifying he could be?_

_Don't confuse his, more comfortable narrative, of a consensual, rather rough, sexual encounter; supposedly demanded by the victim, with the facts...what does he hide in his obfuscated, censored, imprecise and vague version?_

_The doctor does not believe the evidence supports this claim of a consensual rough sexual encounter! She described the evidence she collected as evidence of **rape**...._

_The witness did not see a consensual sexual encounter he saw a **rape**..._

_The victim describes a vicious **rape**...she didn't hide in euphemisms and allusions, she laid her pain out, in horrible graphic detail for us...because rape is horrible..._

_We have heard the defendant talk about the effects of the "incident" on him, but we have heard very little about the effects of the **rape** on the victim...She has also, had her own difficulties with returning to work, with trust, and that is **after** her injuries healed..._

_She has had to face this whole trial as the main witness for the prosecution; **her** case is actually the case of The People V David Smith..._

_She has been in the courtroom, as many of you will have seen, throughout the majority of the proceedings, which has been incredibly difficult for her. She has had to listen to things being said; that I can't begin to imagine hearing about myself...She has sat here, listening to the Police Officers, the Doctor and her friend talk about her...in the most distressing ways. She has had to listen to a colleague, and the defendant, deny her allegations, question her character, and make cruel and untrue insinuations..._

_She has had to tell us, to tell **you** , incredibly intimate, embarrassing details._

_She has had to use language that made her very uncomfortable, she has told us detailed specifics about an attack that has caused her innumerable nightmares..._

_I know that her testimony was unpleasant...it was difficult for us to listen to, to picture...Imagine how difficult it was for her?...The pictures she was struggling with, weren't those conjured up by her imagination, to fit the facts being described, she was remembering how it felt..._

_First degree rape is legally defined in the state of New York as having occurred when a male engages in sexual intercourse with a female_

_By forcible compulsion;_

_Who is incapable of consent by reason of being physically helpless; or_

_Who is less than 11 years old."_

_Mr. Smith **forcibly** pinned the victim to the wall and then to the floor; he **restrained** her with his body and **held** her hands to prevent her pushing him away. While the victim was restrained, he **deliberately ignored her pleas** for him to stop. He **forcibly penetrated her** , causing her injury. This is sexual intercourse by forcible compulsion... **this is rape!**_

_Please find the defendant, David Smith, guilty of rape, guilty of assault, guilty of all charges. Make it very clear to him, and to the victim, that these actions are not acceptable..."_


	32. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury

_"Mr. Smith **forcibly** pinned the victim to the wall, and then to the floor; he **restrained** her with his body and **held** her hands to prevent her from pushing him away. While the victim was restrained, he **deliberately ignored her pleas** for him to stop. He **forcibly penetrated her** , causing her injury. **This** is sexual intercourse by forcible compulsion... **this is rape!**_

_Please find the defendant, Mr. Smith, guilty of rape, guilty of assault, guilty of all charges. Make it very clear to him, and to the victim, that these actions are not acceptable..."_

Barba stops speaking and retakes his seat with this last, impassioned, plea to the jury...

John is still holding tight to one of my hands, Olivia is rubbing the other gently, and I feel all that is holding me up is the way my body is leaning against John...

I'm barely breathing, I wanted so desperately, to hear his every word, that I couldn't risk missing anything by breathing too loudly...

It's like the whole courtroom felt the same way, the entire gallery is completely silent...

My lawyer was superb...

He was in total command; raising, then lowering, his voice, pausing, enunciating some words carefully, pacing every sentence to eke out its maximum impact...

I know he told me, all those months ago, that I wouldn't like him by the time he finished...but I can't begin to thank him...

Some of the things he asked me, or other witnesses, made me feel sick...made me feel that he doubted me...that he was betraying the last secrets I held so dear...but I can see now, that the whole time he had been playing the 'long game', gently revealing secrets, with care, to control the information flow, to protect me from even more disgusting attacks from the defense...

And I saw, in no uncertain terms, in his closing statement, my case was much more than a tick in a 'win or lose' column for him...if he could show such care for a stranger, I can't begin to calculate the toll his difficult job must take on him?

As my eyes are drawn to the woman beside me, I can't help wondering how hard it was for my lawyer when he made a similar plea for her?

And how can she sit here so calmly? How is this reminder not tearing her apart?

Even though they have only ever been professional, in my presence, I can't help feeling that they must be friends...they can communicate so well, even silently, that they must be friends?

I wonder, in that instant, if their friendship was sealed when he fought for her, like this, or if it predated her trial, spurring him on even harder, to claw back some justice for her?

That thought brings me back to the man who is quite literally, supporting me now...Has this horrible experience sealed our friendship? Or will it eventually be the cause of its doom?

My eyes roll closed as some of Barba's speech plays back in my head; I know that my lawyer worked hard to draw attention to the horror of what happened, but all I heard was how **light** my injuries were...how **insignificant** , it all was...I escaped **all** permanent markers...I have no scars staining my skin...My tests were all negative...I chose to take the emergency contraception they offered in the hospital...

Only the nightmares, and fragmented images that cruelly taunt my waking mind, remain to prove that it ever even happened...Was it **really** , only, bad sex?... Have I made more of what happened with all of **this**?...If I had ignored it, would it be almost forgotten by now?

I feel terrible thinking it...like I'm letting down the man who has just put his heart and soul into fighting for me, after he has only barely finished presenting his case to get me some sort of justice...

It feels like an awful betrayal of the woman who has shared snippets of her own trauma with me...but I'm sure what she went through, was **real** rape...and she has moved on so well from it...she can even draw on it to help me...

I feel like I don't deserve these people's help...because **he** didn't hold a gun on me, **he** never threatened my life, **he** is so much bigger, so much stronger than me, **he** could so easily have **really** hurt me, if **he** wanted to...but **he** didn't...I barely even bled...

I didn't entice **him** over...I didn't... _touch_... **him**...But did **he** really think that I was playing some game? Did **he** think that I was enjoying what **he** was doing?

All those years ago, I didn't cause a scene when **he** would describe, in public, what **he** planned on doing; the lewd comments that made my blood run cold; the vulgar speculation about what I... _enjoyed_...I would laugh it off with a smart comment...telling him **he** _"wasn't man enough!"_...or asking _"Is it true that the people who talk about sex the most aren't really having any?"..._

My comments were never meant to encourage **him**...never meant to sound like a challenge...they were meant to stop **him**! They were my way, of trying to protect myself, by not seeming like an easy target; by showing I wasn't afraid to stand my ground, and that I **fit** , in that workplace...

Did that cause **him** to misunderstand?

Did I bring this on myself?

Should I have been outraged at **his** first off-color comment?

Should I have caused a huge fuss, drawing a colossal line, immediately, at what was unacceptable to me? Did I sign the warrant for my own doom, when I parried off **his** comments with a practiced ease?

In the past when **he** hurt me, afterwards I would **just** go back to work...I didn't leave...Why didn't I leave my job? Surrender my dream, back when there was something of **me** left to save?

Should I have refused to deal with **him** , refused to work with **him**?...Instead of trying to make friends with **him** , in the vain hopes **he** was just testing to see if I should be allowed to be one of the 'boys'...I saw it all as a high stakes hazing, that would eventually initiate me into **belonging** , rather than being an unwanted, somehow suspect, outsider...

I feel like a fraud...like someone who is playing a part, seeking attention, and someone to blame for my own stupidity...It's not like I was some innocent virgin...I was, _how did **he** say it?,..._ **experienced**...

It was only sex!

It hurt...and I didn't want it...but was it worth all this? It was just sex...

Saying that, even just inside my head, brings forward the memories again; I can feel **his** body on top of me, **his** body inside me...

The images make me queasy once again, as I lean forward...fighting back the nausea...

 _"Are you ok?"_ John asks in a worried tone...

I just nod at him, forcing myself to sit back, to calm him.

But the images won't go away...flashes of it assaulting me like a nightmare you can't pull yourself out of sleep to escape...but I try not to tense my body, try not to let the people beside me know...

The judge looks to Buchanan, asking him if he needs some time to prepare, but the big man tells her that he, is also, ready to proceed... She looks carefully at the clock, making some quick calculations...

_"As it is Friday, we will have the closing statement from the Defense, before we recess for lunch. After lunch we will instruct the Jury before discharging them for deliberation...I don't however, expect they will come to a verdict today, so we will allow until four o clock, when we shall adjourn for the weekend..."_

Both lawyers before her, nod, and she makes a couple of quick notes...

 _"Mr. Buchanan, when you are ready!?"_ she announces...

I expect the defense lawyer to get to his feet, to mirror my lawyer's actions, but he begins to speak from his desk, from beside his client...

_"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Counsel **is** correct, the legal definition of first degree rape in New York is indeed:_

_When a male engages in sexual intercourse with a female_

_By forcible compulsion;_

_Who is incapable of consent by reason of being physically helpless; or_

_Who is less than 11 years old."_

_What he neglected to mention, is that to return a verdict of Guilty of the crime of First Degree Rape, you must find my client **guilty beyond a reasonable doubt**..._

_This means that you can't have any reasonable doubts that the alleged 'victim' did anything, to invite my client's advances..._

_It means that you can't have any reasonable doubts that the alleged 'victim' bore a grudge against my client, and wanted to once again, ruin his life..._

_It means that you can't have any reasonable doubts that my client was duped_ _and manipulated into the situation he was discovered in... Mr. Smith has been very honest that he made errors in his judgment, he was a married man with children, who engaged in extramarital sex with a woman he shouldn't have...Mr. Smith, Dave, has taken responsibility for his bad decision, explaining that he allowed his body to make his decisions, and that he deeply regrets those decisions, but he has also been very clear, that he would never even consider hurting a woman as he has been accused..._

_The Prosecution has tried to tell us that the **mild** vaginal tearing the alleged 'victim' obtained during the encounter, could only have been the result of rape...but the Doctor had to admit to many potential causes for that particular injury...including vigorous, or rough sex, with a partner who was particularly well endowed...She also had to concede that sex-injuries such as these, are quite common in any busy ER..._

_My client regrets causing these injuries to his 'partner', they have caused him great upset...but **she** refused his attempts at the foreplay that may have prevented this particular injury...he didn't realize her body was unprepared, that it would cause her pain...he should have been more attuned to her needs...but his inattentiveness to her, is not a crime...and it is most certainly not the crime of rape..._

_The same doctor, also, could not dispute, with any confidence, that her mild concussion was the result of **one** bang to the head that occurred when my client was roughly knocked off his 'partner' whilst engaging in sexual intercourse..._

_I don't believe it unusual for small injuries to occur whilst engaged in passionate sexual activity, injuries that may not even be noticed until later...I'm sure many of us have unintentionally left marks on a partner after a particularly passionate night?_

_The crux of this case is consent...and whether both parties had the consent of the other, for the sexual activity they participated in..._

_My client was reluctant at first, but against his better judgment he did finally consent to sex..._

_Mr. Smith had no reason to doubt the consent of his sexual partner as she instigated the activity...She told him that she was lonely and horny...and just wanted sex with a guy she knew from past experience, could satisfy her..._

_Her participation was...enthusiastic...until they were interrupted...and then she was faced with explaining to the entire industry, why she had been engaged in sexual intercourse with the man she had previously made horrible accusations against..._

_We like to think we live in an enlightened age, that women can openly admit to enjoying sex, to having sexual needs...but I can imagine that in such a male dominated industry it would have been difficult to make such admissions...My client should not be made to suffer for that double standard..._

_We have all seen the alleged 'victim' in the courtroom over the past days...quite often holding hands with the witness in this case, John. Their closeness is evident...and he has admitted to feeling an attraction to her...I'm sure his interpretation of what he saw that day, was very heavily colored by his feelings, and the narrative that **she** provided him..._

_My client has been very honest with us, explaining that some of what the witness overheard, was misinterpreted, such as him coaxing his sexual 'partner' to surrender to her imminent climax..._

_He can recognize how the witness seeing the alleged 'victim' arching up at Dave, in the throes of passion, could be misunderstood by a man who was hurt and jealous...or how John's field of vision was limited, and he could mistake a slap **received** by Dave, as having been delivered by him...Dave was, after all in the position of dominance, on top of his sexual 'partner'..._

_My client has been very understanding; more understanding than I feel most of us would be, about these misunderstandings..._

_Dave has admitted to bad judgment, to breaking his marriage vows, to allowing his body to think for him rather than his head, to saying some things that were inadvisable...and he is paying for those mistakes...his marital indiscretion has been made very public...he has once more, lost his job in the industry he loves...he has had to face explaining his indiscretion to his two sons..._

_Can you imagine how difficult that was? To have to describe his lapse in judgment to his children?...To have to explain the complexities of adult sexual relationships to them?...To have to explain the charges he is facing? How do you even begin to explain rape, adequately, to children? It is something they should not have to learn about until they are much older..._

_He has had to try to patch up his marriage in public view..._

_Dave has admitted to his mistakes...but none of those mistakes are crimes!_

_He has been humiliated, at home, at his place of work, here...his name has been released publicly...his reputation has been decimated..._

_Dave is struggling to recover his life from the devastation of these accusations...and he will continue to struggle, long after we have finished here...the effects of these proceedings won't end for him, once the proceedings do..._

_He has been under immense pressure, immense stress, for the last number of months...and that stress is only getting worse...Dave now faces spending the weekend worrying, that in addition to all that he has already suffered, he may be faced with unjustly losing his freedom...with losing the opportunity to see his children grow...with being separated from the wife and children he adores..._

_It is all too understandable that you worry about getting this judgment wrong, **you** are also under huge pressure...but keep in mind, that the only person whose very **freedom** is in jeopardy, is Dave..._

_Dave Smith has done his utmost to explain to us, exactly what transpired that day in January, between himself and the alleged 'victim'...he has not held back information, he has put his embarrassment aside in the interest of the truth...but he is only human...and when the prosecution, taunted him, twisted the details he provided in good faith...the stress became too much and he was pushed, by the prosecution, into an **out of character** outburst..._

_Like all of us, Dave misuses language, he says things in the heat of the moment that he does not really believe...using words that he shouldn't...but again, being politically incorrect, being insensitive in his choice of language, is not the crime of rape...his heated words, while under immense pressure here, have no impact on the actions that took place months ago...and he has pleaded with me to convey his apologies for any offense his thoughtlessness may have caused..._

_This man, and his family have been through hell, over the past months...do not allow this injustice to continue, do not allow Dave to lose his freedom for a mistake, do not allow his children to lose their father, or his wife to lose her husband over a misunderstanding and an error in judgment...the sexual activity in question was consensual, if ill advised...allow everyone to return to their lives...to heal from this...Dave Smith is not guilty of rape...there can be no other verdict!...He places himself in your hands, do not allow this nightmare to_ _continue any further...show him that his honesty, and his belief in the justice system, in **you** , is warranted..."_

The defense lawyer makes his way back over to his desk, placing a comforting hand on his client's arm...

I was emotionally drained **before** my lawyer got to his feet to present his closing argument...that feeling was only intensified **after** he spoke so passionately, but now I can't even find a reaction inside me...I am like a cardboard cut-out of a person, a one dimensional character...

As the judge recesses for lunch, reminding the court of her plans for the afternoon I can only look ahead...my gaze as frozen as my shredded soul...

The courtroom begins to empty immediately, and my lawyer makes his way over to me...

 _" **You** made it possible for the jury to see behind the mask...the insight you gave me, allowed me to trip him up...Buchanan had to work really hard to explain **that** away, and I'm not sure the Jury are buying his explanation!"_ he tells me softly...

 _"It may not be enough...?"_ I whisper...

His brow furrows... _"It's hard to read some of the jury...Buchanan is really good...but I think we have a chance!"_

I nod dismally...

_"I wish I could make promises to you...I wish it wasn't so hard...I'm **hopeful**...You don't know how powerful your testimony was, and how hard it will be for the jurors to dismiss it..."_

I raise my hand up, pushing the neckline of my shirt away from my neck; trying to stave off the feeling of being choked again...once more nodding when it seems some reaction is needed from me...

_"I...ehmm...I don't think I'm going to come back...after lunch...I think I'm going to go home...?!"_

My lawyer and both police officers nod in agreement...

 _"I think that is a good idea!"_ Olivia intervenes gently... _"The judge has made the timeline quite clear...it will be Monday at the earliest, before there is any possibility of a verdict...and we will make contact with you later if there is anything to tell you...Go home! Relax! Try to begin to put this behind you...Barba is right, you have been incredible..."_

Yet again, I nod vacantly back at her, letting go of her hand and John's as I get to my feet...but John immediately slips his hand back into mine...

 _"Maybe we could get some lunch?"_ he asks quietly...

 _"I...I think I want to just go home..."_ I push out...as he nods understandingly...

 _"Ok! Let me take you home?"_ he asks pleadingly...and when I catch sight of all the worried faces peering back at me, I nod gratefully, adding a soft, _"Thanks"._

Barba promises to call me later, to explain the judge's instructions, to tell me what I can expect...and Olivia reminds me that I can call her if I want to talk...as I allow John to lead me out to his car...

We don't speak at all, as he drives, the silence comfortable, as we both immerse ourselves in our own unspoken thoughts.

 _"Can I come in for a while?"_ he asks shyly as we pull in beside my apartment, _"we could order some food, or I could cook something?"_

When he is greeted only by silence, he adds carefully, _"Please? I don't want to leave you alone? And...I don't want to be alone now either...even if you don't want to talk?"_

He has pretty much echoed my feelings, and with the assurance he is not going to push me to share the disjointed thoughts going through my head, I nod...grateful for the undemanding company...

We sit on the couch in silence, staring blankly at the flashing TV screen, neither of us watching the images, but both of us glad of somewhere to focus on...

I have no idea how long has passed, when John's voice pulls me back to reality, _"I'm thinking of making grilled cheese? Maybe running down to store, getting some ice cream?"_

I nod again...

 _"Is there anything you would like?"_ he asks, biting his lip...

I clear my throat, _"Maybe some wine? Or beer?",_ I mumble...

We have often sat together, drinking a beer, or a glass of wine, the request is not unusual, but it brings a soft smile to his face, as I throw my keys at him...unable, or unwilling to have to move to let him back in...

I think he's too happy to feel useful in some way, to question the trust shown in the small gesture...

He isn't gone long, and he comes back with both the beer and wine, giving me the choice, as well as my favorite ice cream, and some groceries. He holds up the wine and beer, silently asking which I want, and unquestioningly passes me a beer, twisting the lid off one for himself as he sets about making our late lunch...

I can't get rid of the notion that what happened wasn't as big a thing as I have made it into...that maybe the only reason I'm still haunted by memories of **it** is because **it** was the **last time**...

I pull out another beer, putting the pack down on the floor where it is less obvious that one of the bottles is already empty...

When John hands me my sandwich, and the Tabasco sauce, I pick it at it, eating enough, so there are no arguments or pleas to _"eat just one more bite..."._

He is still sipping at his beer, no doubt conscious that he is driving, and when he goes to get a bottle of water for each of us from the fridge, I substitute another full beer bottle for my empty one...

I turn down the offer of ice cream with a soft _"Maybe later..."_

I've eaten very little, and the beer is enough to make me feel calmer, as I continue to ponder if I've inadvertently **made myself** into a victim...

It was only sex!

I've always enjoyed sex, I've never been embarrassed by my desires...Maybe all I need to do to chase away the demons is to replace the memories...?

As I substitute yet another empty bottle for a full one, now not caring if John sees the move...I begin to see simple wisdom in the idea...sex is supposed to be fun...to feel good...if I can remind my body, my mind, of what it feels like...how can it fail to lessen the **bad** memories?

I curl into the man beside me, testing myself gently...

He allows me to control our physical interaction since his damaging confession that he was attracted to me, but he gratefully wraps an arm around me when I try to snuggle between his arm and his body...it doesn't occur to me that he has attributed this movement, this huge concession, to a need for some comfort after the day's horrible stresses...

John's body feels different...to **his**...the anatomy is the same, but he feels different, the way he rubs my arms is soft, gentle, there is no reminder of **him**...

My mind runs away, and I try to imagine the man beside me, naked...his arousal obvious...his hands touching me...and fear makes me shake...

 _"It's ok..."_ he whispers to me, _"It's ok..."_ he soothes...

My body is still trembling, the idea of being really **touched**...the fear of **anything** penetrating me...causes hot tears to burst out with a sob...and John pulls his second arm under me, holding me carefully, trying to comfort me from whatever terrors are tugging me back, without making me feel trapped...

I begin to fear that my body is damaged, that I won't ever be able to have sex again, and then the idea of never having sex again, actually makes me happy...I can't even imagine deriving any pleasure from my body...I could happily stay celibate...

But then the little voice inside me, reminds me, that would mean **he** would be the last man to...that **he** would be my **last**...

Again images of **him** shoving **himself** inside me taunt me...

 **He** has been allowed to take away too much, **he** has had too much control over me, for way too long...this lump of flesh is not **his** , I may not want it, but it is not **his**...

I try to remind myself of the things I used to enjoy...a dexterous hand stimulating me...a tongue licking...

I steer clear of the images that terrify me, concentrating instead, on trying to remember the feeling of my body tensing in pleasure, that delicious sensation of being so turned on, that a release is not far away...I squeeze my legs together, twisting closer into the man beside me...and I'm disappointed not to feel that little jolt between my legs...I had expected my dormant body to react to the images playing in my head, and its natural reaction to being entwined with a man...

I will not allow **him** to have broken me...the doctor has assured me that I have healed from the mild injuries **he** caused ‘down there’...I'm still afraid...but I'm sure I probably have some KY somewhere...I'm sure I'd be fine with plenty of lube...and I know **this man** , my friend John, wouldn't hurt me...he would be gentle...he would be attentive to my body...

He has already admitted to the world that he **finds** me attractive...not **found**...he insists that what happened has not changed how he sees me...

The words that threatened me such a short while ago, give me a little hope now...I don't have to face getting to know someone, having to explain...I can do **this** with someone I like, someone I trust, someone that at one time, could have been a potential source of plenty of fun...

Maybe if I take control back, I can start to put this nightmare behind me...and unless I'm going to allow **him** to be the last man I ever feel inside my body, there is always going to be a first time **after**...a scary, worry-filled first attempt...

Fuck it! It's only sex! Maybe if I can remind myself what sex is supposed to be like, the bad memories will go away...

But the fear squeezing my insides won't allow me to make a move...

 _"I want to get drunk!"_ I announce pulling away from John suddenly...storming towards the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of vodka I know is in the press, grabbing a couple of shot glasses, filling them right to the brim, laughing as the clear liquid laps over the rims...

I slide one at John, swallowing the burning liquid in mine immediately...as John reaches for the now empty glass, taking it from me...

 _"I'm not sure that's such a good idea..."_ he frowns, but I grab the glass I put in front of him before he can take it too...swallowing it down quickly...

 _"Spoilsport!"_ I toss the words at him sulkily, but he has learned his lesson and grabs the bottle quickly, holding it away from me...

 _"I know that you probably want to forget what happened, what you've been through...but this isn't a good idea...it could make it **worse**...and it won't change anything..."_ he takes no joy from the words, his pain telegraphed at the horrible truth...but the beer, and now vodka, have made me brave, and my outrage at being told I can't do what I want to, and the reminder that drinking won't take away the memories that haunt me, helps cement the plans I had been toying with...

I'm going to replace the bad memories...

I swing my leg over John, reaching for the bottle...sitting across his lap...

He is clearly shocked by my move, tensing immediately, but he refuses to let go of his hold on the bottle...I try to pull it out of his hand, but I can't...and some of the liquid spills down his arm...

 _"I'm not giving you back the bottle...!"_ he says determinedly... _"I'll do anything I can, to help you...but I won't give you back the bottle..."_

I settle on his lap, surprised at how in-control I feel in this position...

 _"You'll do anything you can..."_ I repeat mockingly... _"...except give me back what is mine!"_

The anger I feel at his soft but resolute statement, gives me the final push I needed...

I am done giving my control away, or letting people take it...I will drink if I want to, and I will use my body as I want to...

I very consciously move, until my core is directly above his genitals, and rub myself against him...leaning down to shove my tongue into his mouth...

I don't even notice how aggressive my actions are, how unskilled and unappealing they are...I just know, that in the distant past I have successfully, used similar moves to seduce someone I was attracted to...

For a second John is too shocked to do anything, but then I feel his mouth respond to me...and I begin to congratulate myself...I **can** still be sexy...I'm **not** broken!

But he pulls away, and when I move after him, he turns his head away from me...

I sit back _..."So it was all bullshit? You **don't** want me anymore!"_ I spit at him angrily...

He leans around me, to put the bottle down, and I allow myself to believe for a second that he isn't rejecting me...but once the bottle is sitting on the table, he leans back against the couch...

He gently wraps his arms around my back, as I angrily try to shrug them off...

 _"I **do** want you..."_ he tries to assure me...but his words bounce straight off the shield I have hurriedly thrown back up...

 _"I'm going to seriously kick myself for this later..."_ he tries to joke...as I begin to pull myself from his lap...but he won't let me, holding me in place...

 _"Let go of me!"_ I scream in panic at the dim reminder...and he instantly lets me go...

_"I'm sorry, I won't hurt you, please, don't move...?"_

Again my muscles won't respond to my demands, as my body shakes in unbridled fear...

_"I'm sorry! That was so fucking stupid of me! Are you ok?"_

He reaches for my hand but I pull it away...

 _"Shit!"_ he mutters repeatedly...holding his hands up away from me... _"Take a deep breath...I won't touch you! I promise!...Look?"_

My breathing is the first sign of me calming down, and as soon as he hears it he begins to whisper softly...

_"I'm so sorry...that was so incredibly stupid...I would never hurt you...but I know I terrified you!"_

I don't answer, or look at him...but he can feel me tensing the muscles in my legs...

 _"Please don't move?"_ he asks so softly that I can't help lifting my head, _"Let me explain?"_

I feel awkward now, no longer in-control, but before I can pull myself up off his lap, he runs his hand over my cheek, his touch feather light...

 _"I **do** want you! I'm struggling to control my body's reaction to you..."_ he admits, _"I want you too much to do this...now...like this..."_

 _"That's just words!"_ I snarl...

 _"Listen to me?"_ he pleads.

 _"What's going through your head?"_ he questions...

This time he can do nothing, as I fling myself back onto the couch...I can see relief on his face as I do, and I roar back at him... _"Yeah! Sure you do! Look at the relief on your face? Spare me!"_

He seems to consider what he should say... _"I **am** a bit relieved...I'm human! I'm trying to do the right thing here! And that doesn't get any easier with you sitting in my lap..."_

As if to punctuate what he is saying, or maybe to clarify it, he shifts in his seat slightly...

 _"So what makes you so sure you know what the right thing is?"_ I challenge quickly, not missing the grimace on his face as he realizes what I'm alluding to at the same time...but he seems to refuse to rise to the challenge...

 _"I'm not sure!"_ he confesses, _"I want you to sit in my lap, like that...Fuck, I want a lot more than that!"_

He looks me straight in the eye, turning towards where I have pulled my knees up under my chin, as far away from him as I can get on the couch...

_"But you've had a beer, maybe two and a couple of shots, you've eaten fuck all...and the last few days have been horrific...What's going through your head? Please? Tell me?"_

I don't answer him but can't stop myself from looking towards the beer...

He follows my eye line, and groans lightly... _"A **few** beers?"_

I refuse to explain myself, crossing my arms across my knees...

 _"If I really thought, **that** , was what you wanted...I wouldn't have stopped you..."_ he coaxes...

 _"How do you know it wasn't!?"_ I fire back.

_"I don't...which is why I asked..."_

His seemingly endless patience infuriates me...

_"You don't want me? I'm sure I won't have a problem finding someone who does!"_

He looks at me, and his hurt is shining through... _"No! I'm sure you wouldn't!"_

All of the bravado has long deserted me though, and all I want is for him to leave so I can cry... _"Just get the fuck out of my house!"_

Now it's his turn to dig his heels in... " _No! I'm sorry but no! I'm not leaving here until you talk to me, or to someone...If I've fucked up my only chance to be more than friends, then so be it! But like it or not, I **am** your friend and I'm not leaving until I know you are ok!"_

 _"I'm fine!"_ I roar at him...

He moves his leg, an exaggerated movement, lifting it off the floor...and I flinch back immediately...

 _"No! You're not..."_ he says, without a trace of glee at being right...

We fall back into silence; me curled sullenly into one end of the couch, him trying not to move, as he rubs his hand across his face slowly...

He is clearly wracking his brain, for any clue as to what happened...

 _"I don't think you were really being yourself...what happened?"_ he asks...

" _Yeah cos the **poor rape victim** couldn't possibly ever want to have sex again...she couldn't possible ever initiate things!"_ I say bitterly...

He sits up straighter, his eyes searching out mine... _"Of course you can...and funny, but I don't have any problem seeing you initiating things..."_

I know he is trying to disarm me with the gentle jokes, but it's not working now...

 _"Of course you will want to have sex again! Of course you could initiate it! And I don't see any reason why it couldn't be today or tomorrow..."_ he seems to debate trying to lighten things, but seemingly decides it's not the time _... "...I only stopped you because it didn't feel like you wanted to...it felt a little like you were trying to..."_

I start to glare at him and he seems to realize he needs to be careful of his choice of word or the conversation will be over...

_"I'm not as good with words as you...it didn't feel like you... kissed me because you wanted to...it felt like you just wanted to get it over with...like you had to...?"_

I carefully consider his choice of words...wanting to be angry but finding instead that I'm swallowing back tears...

He looks shocked as he recognizes he is close... _"Is that what you were thinking? You wanted to just get it over with?"_

I don't answer him, trying to hide my face...

 _"I don't want to do that...I mean I **do** want to...but not like that!"_ He groans softly...

I can see his mind racing to try to understand...scrambling to try to figure out what is going on in my head...

 _"Have you been thinking about this...for a while?"_ he asks tentatively, knowing that one wrong step now, will shut me down completely, maybe even, pushing us apart for good...

Somehow the inference that throughout the trial, I've been considering sex in any way, deeply upsets me and I start sobbing...and I can't explain my reaction...

 _"I didn't want it! I promise..."_ I wail agonizingly...

 _"I know you didn't! You didn't want what **he** did..."_ he assures, tears breaking through at the thought... _"What **he** did was horrible, was wrong, was violent...it wasn't sex!"_

I can't help being comforted by the way he is echoing my realization of so long ago, when I was confronted with the reality of what he had seen...

He calls my name softly, repeating it until I peek up at him, to see he is holding his arms out, pleading to be allowed to hug me...but I can't allow either of us that comfort...I don't want to be touched...

 

**A/N I hope I've upset nobody with this little twist...?**


	33. Statistically......

_"Have you been thinking about this...for a while?"_ John asks tentatively, knowing that one wrong step now, will shut me down completely, maybe even, pushing us apart for good...

Somehow the inference that throughout the trial, I've been considering sex in any way, deeply upsets me and I start sobbing...and I can't explain my reaction...

 _"I didn't want it! I promise..."_ I wail agonizingly...

 _"I know you didn't! You didn't want what **he** did..."_ he assures, tears breaking through at the thought... _"What **he** did was horrible, it was wrong, it was violent...it wasn't sex!"_

I can't help being comforted by the way he is echoing my realization of so long ago, when I was confronted with the reality of what my friend had seen when he saved me...

He calls my name softly, repeating it until I peek up at him, to see he is holding his arms out, pleading to be allowed to hug me...but I can't allow either of us that comfort...

I don't want to be touched...

I can still feel **his** hands on me... **his** body pressed against mine...

I want, so desperately, to just shed **that** skin, the one **he** stained and ruined...but it's not that easy...the dirt **he** left all over me can't just be washed away...

 _"Listen to me?"_ John pleads softly, _"You did nothing wrong! You could never do anything that would entitle **him** to do that..."_

I still can't quite believe the words, despite understanding their truth, so much of me still feels at fault...like **if** I had done things differently...

I'm hyper sensitive now...anything unexpected, anything beyond the most basic needs of life, risks huge emotional fallout...so, as much as I want to let my friend comfort me, to hold me in that tight hug he gives so freely; as much as I want to allow him to wrap his arms around me, to try to reassure him, and even myself...I can't...my protective walls are stretched to breaking, all the long denied emotion and feeling, that was dammed up when I lost huge parts of who I am in the struggle to just put one foot in front of the other, all those emotions that were just too much to deal with in the moment, had to go somewhere...and I'm too weak now to be able to maintain the walls holding it all back, if he wraps his arms around me...

 _"Talk to me? Please?"_ he entreats...slowly lowering the outstretched arms that I have silently refused...

John is no longer holding his arms out to me, but it doesn't feel like the option has been rescinded, just that he doesn't want to pressure me...

 _"Fuck! I'm so shit at saying the right thing..."_ he mutters, his hand swiping across his face in frustration... _"What I meant, was...if you...if it...It felt like maybe something you just did, something you hadn't really thought about...?"_

John is trying to open up the conversation without asking questions, by just telling me what he thought, and allowing me to answer how I want to...

It seems like such an **adult** thing to do...a **mature** way of approaching something difficult, despite the heightened emotions...

And it does help me, to understand that he didn't think I was thinking about sex as I listened to all the horrors I was confronted with in that courtroom...to understand that he actually felt the opposite, that he worried my clumsy attempt at seducing him was some sort of drunken kneejerk lunacy...

And maybe it was...I feel guilt settling deep inside me again, how could I be thinking about trying to seduce him? How **fucked up** am I? Maybe I was so defensive about the idea of me trying to instigate anything sexual, because somewhere deep inside me, I know how wrong it is...? Am I exactly what **he** told the court I was?

I'm dimly aware, as I look at the man in front of me, that I have, somewhere along the way, located some type of switch on who I am...In an attempt to protect myself, even simply to function at all, I isolated the essential parts of me, switching off the unnecessary pieces...the pieces that I could do without while I healed...my emotions were severely compressed, and filtered, to reduce my hyper sensitivity...so while John looks frustrated, confused, upset, regretful, worried, a whole mishmash of unidentifiable and conflicting emotion playing across his face, all I can really feel as I desperately shove down the resurgent memories, is a little embarrassment, and a little anger.

The embarrassment is at myself, for trying to integrate a little of the parts of me that have been dormant, and failing so spectacularly.

The anger is directed at **him** , for leaving me feeling like **this**...and maybe a little at John, for not wanting me, even when he told me he did...

I don't answer.

I don't move.

I barely breathe...

I have no idea how he decides what he should or shouldn't do...but he just nods softly at my complete lack of answer...

After what he deems a reasonable interval, or when he gets too fed up, or frustrated, to stay sitting on the couch with little more that a statue, he slowly stands up, taking the vodka and glasses into the kitchen...

I want to shout at him, to tell him again, to _"Get out of my home"..._ And I want to tell him how his only chance of me talking to him, lies in the bottom of that bottle he has just taken away... And I want to feel the arms I refused, wrap tightly around me... I want it all...

And, because I am **so** desperate for some sort of help, **so** needy for comfort and reassurance...I wobble to my feet, and stumble, silently, to my bedroom...slamming the door...

I lean against the wood, waiting to hear the front door close behind him...my legs shaking as tears flow down my face...

But the sounds of the apartment are the same...

I can only assume he left so fast, trying to quietly close the door so as not to rouse the crazy person, that I didn't hear it over the pounding of my heart...

I crawl into my bed, paying no heed to being fully dressed...pulling the bedclothes over me, grateful that with the change of season there is a weight to them once more, there is a comfort in feeling the substance of the bedclothes lying on me...it isn't enough to remind me of **his** weight, but it is strong enough to anchor me...

The tears don't stop, the numb feeling is augmented by a cotton wool, fuzzy feeling in my head and the beginnings of a headache... so I burrow deeper into my fabric cocoon...ignoring the shaking of my body...and cursing how weak I am...

At some stage I drift into a peace less sleep...the regular ghosts so much bigger and closer today...

The nightmares that haunt me nightly, are worse than ever...assaulting me cruelly, seemingly from the very first moment my eyes slide shut...

I'm weakly aware of fighting, of battling to escape my torturer...but in the background I'm sure I can hear a soft, indistinct, voice calling me...the voice becomes clearer, it is saying my name, and I try to focus on it, latching onto the sound, hoping it can help me find a way out of my nightmare...

Slowly, the voice pulls me out of slumber, away from the demons who are loathe to let me go, their arms chasing after me...but as my eyes drift open, a figure is leaning over me, a hand reaching out towards me, and as it touches me, I scream, trying to scramble away, but the quilt cocoon is holding me and I can't escape...

There is no real thought, my brain unable to function through the haze of fear and panic...the sobs bursting forward create an actual, physical, lump in my throat that once again stops me from speaking.

 **NO!** It's going to happen again...and again, I can't even say 'no!'...

My attempts to free myself are uncoordinated, ineffective, just repeating the same useless shoving actions, but hoping for it to magically work this time...

The figure pulls back quickly, but it does nothing to relieve my panic...I only seem to be getting more and more terrified...

The figure's hand darts out, dexterously tugging the quilt, so I am free...and I grab the opportunity to flee, tumbling out of the bed, cowering in the corner...

 _"It's ok! It's not real...it was a dream! A nightmare!"_ I hear the figure cooing... _"You're safe! You're ok! No one is trying to hurt you..."_

The words do little to reassure me, even as the figure retreats even further away from me...

After a moment of silence the assurances start again... _"You're safe! You're at home! It was a nightmare...I didn't mean to scare you, but you were crying out...I didn't want you to go through that, I didn't know what else to do but to try to wake you...You're safe! I wasn't trying to hurt you..."_

Every part of me is on high alert, but **now** that the danger seems less imminent, my body finally, seems to be ready to respond, my muscles tensed...

The room is well lit, but it is only in this moment, that I can recognize it as my bedroom, and the figure that loomed over me as John...

He is trying anything he can think of, to make himself seem less threatening to me, he retreats all the way to the furthest corner of the room, dropping down onto the chair, resting his open hands on the chair arms...

 _"I thought you left?"_ I whisper, in a croaky, gruff voice, after completing a full, and careful, risk assessment of my current position...

He shakes his head, keeping his voice very soft, _"No! I couldn't leave...not like **that**...And I was worried..."_

His words are an unwanted reminder of the evening so I stop talking...

 _"I'm sorry for scaring you...Should I have woken you?"_ he asks, his voice a whisper; his self-confidence shot, so unsure that he ever knows what the right thing to do is anymore...

I can't ignore his question; he is too uncertain, too hesitant...

I nod tightly...

It feels like the middle of the night, maybe 3am...that special time in the middle of sleep, where you can get up to use the bathroom, or check on a sleeping child, and yet be back asleep in seconds, after completing complicated tasks, without ever fully waking up...

I groan inwardly, that same time of night, is also when you are at your most fragile...when worries can wake you, denying you sleep and when emotions can no longer be hidden...when your weaknesses can't be camouflaged and denied...when sleep has removed your defenses, without recharging you enough to hurriedly rebuild them at the first sign of attack...

 _"I'm fine..."_ I try to insist, even though my voice broadcasts how unsure of that fact I really am...

 _"Is it always this bad?"_ he asks hesitantly...his concern and worry clear...

I just shrug...

 _"It was like you were...reliving it..."_ he continues...his voice cracking at the realization...

I have no words, so I try to force myself to my feet, teetering unsteadily back to my bed, in the hopes it will silently answer his question, and send him back out of my room...before he sees how bad I really am...

 _"I was afraid..."_ he admits before he seems to be unable to vocalize the feelings he is trying to describe...

It seems he is also struggling to hide behind the mask that night strips away...and minutes tick by, with us both sitting in silence...

 _"I didn't realize they were so bad...the nightmares..."_ he quickly clarifies...

I bite my tongue, his words prompting my sleepy brain to say things I don't want to, trying to hold back the words, even as they battle to get out...

 _"I had nightmares...sometimes I still do...they've gotten worse, with the trial...nightmares where I can't stop **him**...I wake up sweating...in a panic..."_ he admits softly...

I look at him as he talks...

_"I wish I had gotten there quicker...or that I had acted quicker..."_

_" **I** wish you were never there..."_ the words slip out before I can stop them...and he looks shocked...

I pull the bedclothes up around my neck suddenly feeling more exposed by my words, than when he found me, only partly clothed, on a rough concrete floor...

 _"I've wished that sometimes..."_ he whispers, shaking his head in shame... _"...but I'd much rather see **that** , a thousand times, than have **not** been able to stop it..." _ His words are soft, but bitingly honest, and I find myself choking back emotion at the immense trust he is showing me...

 _"I didn't realize how much you saw..."_ I tell him, the floodgates have opened and I'm not sure I can hold back any longer... _"I tried to tell myself you only saw...hints of **it**...bits of... **me**..."_

He meets my eyes, his sadness all too obvious...I now know, that he saw nearly all of it...

The reminder that he saw my disgusting, filthy, body, marked by **him** , **used** by **him**...only emphasizes all the reasons why he would never want to touch me...why he earlier, rejected my blundering advance...

I try to tell myself he doesn't want to hear any of **this** , and that he is only still here because he feels pity for me, because he is worried...but my mouth won't hold back my secrets any longer...

_"I didn't remember...what **he** said... **after**..."_

_"You were in shock..."_ he tries to comfort me...then he seems to consider carefully, _" **He** said other things though...didn't **he**?"_

I look down, my cheeks blazing with shame...

 _"Things you didn't tell Barba?"_ he asks softly...putting it all together...

The fact that I don't answer seems to tell him all he needs to know...

 _"More than you told me?"_ I can hear the dread in his voice; I know he is thinking back...trying to imagine the horrors I have kept quiet...

Once more my answer rings out clearly in my silent tears...

_"You can tell me!? Anything! I saw you fight **him**...I saw **him**...I have no doubt... **none**...You didn't want what **he** did..."_

I shake my head vehemently...not wanting those words to ever pass my lips...

 _"Ok! You don't have to...I just want you to know you **can** tell me...I don't always know what to say, or even what I should do...I've proven that over and over again..."_ his admission is open and honest, but tinged with disgust at himself, _"...but I will always listen...and I will always believe you...and I will always want to help if I can..."_

 _" **He** 's going to get away with it!"_ I whimper...the overriding fear finally forcing its way through...

He starts to get up from the chair, but seems to worry that the spell that has been cast, allowing this conversation, may be broken if we move, so he drops back...

 _"I don't know..."_ he says sighing, " _I hope not...I hope he is locked up, and never gets out...and it's still way too good for him...God, I wish I'd done so much more when I had the chance..."_

_"John, I don't know what I'll do, if he walks..."_

_"Fin thinks that even if he isn't found guilty of...rape...he won't walk on the assault charges...that he **should** go to prison..."_

_"He said that?"_

John nods back at me, _"It's not enough...but he doesn't think there's really any way he can be found **not** guilty of all the charges...there's too much evidence..."_

I consider this news carefully. For me, the trial was all about one charge...I've hardly even thought about the other charges...

 _"Could you...How would you feel?"_ he asks...

I can only shrug...I have no idea...I don't want to think about it...

Silence reigns once more...the idea of losing, too much for both of us...

_"Fin thinks he might be found **not guilty**?"_

The man before me scrambles to correct my conclusion... _"NO! He doesn't! He thinks Barba's case is stronger...that Barba **should** win! But he said that juries can be unpredictable, and Buchanan made a good 'emotional case'...he was trying to reassure me that **he** will have to face some serious consequences..."_

 _"I'm not sure that would be enough..."_ I whisper...

He shakes his head in agreement... _"I'm not sure what would be punishment enough..."_

He still seems to be struggling with something he wants to say, opening his mouth, and then closing it...

Eventually he seems to come to the conclusion that he has to force himself to say it...

_"The nightmare...you just had...it wasn't... **me**...hurting...you... was it? I didn't mean to hold you down...I just wasn't sure...I..."_

Of everything he could have said to me, this is the thing that cracks through the very last of my defenses. I can't allow this man, my friend, to think that his soft attempt to stop me pulling away from him, to stop me from feeling rejected, has made me think he is capable of holding me down...of...doing **that**...

I want to assure him that I know he wouldn't hurt me, that even though in the moment, it terrified me, I know there was no nasty intent behind his gentle hold...but I can only shake my head...And I hate myself for all of this; for making him feel like this...so I shake my head again...

It doesn't feel enough, so I shake it again and again, as sobs burst out, trying in the only way I can communicate, to tell him that no...I've never mistaken him for that monster...

He seems to understand the insistence in the hysterical shaking of my head...

 _"You didn't want to kiss me last night? Not **really**...did you?"_ The words are so soft, so hesitant...He chews his lip as he looks at me nervously, awaiting some sort of confirmation that he did the right thing...in refusing my advances... I want to tell him the truth...to say _"I don't know"..._ but the words are still lost to me, so I shrug my shoulders trying to convey the thought silently...

I'm sure it must be frustrating for him, but he seems to be willing to have the conversation in any way I can...

 _"What were you thinking?"_ he asks...

The words are crystal clear in my head, _"I don't want **him** to be...the last...”_ but they won't form on my tongue...and the silence is agonizing...

He tries to explain what he was thinking, in the slightly desperate hope it will push me to talk to him...

_"I was afraid that kissing you, **touching** you...would **remind** you...that you were only doing it because you had been drinking, that you were so confused by all that you've been through, all that you've seen and heard, in the last few days...I was afraid you thought you **had** to, that you felt like I expected it..."_

I shake my head softly...No! I never felt any pressure or expectation from him...

He looks immensely relieved... _"Why then?"_

 _"To forget..."_ I finally whisper...

He clearly doesn't understand...he ponders my half-answer but it doesn't seem to make sense to him...but he is afraid to push me too hard...

 _"I didn't reject you!"_ he reminds me gently...

I swallow deeply, a tiny dip of my head confirming I have heard him...

 _"I didn't expect it...I needed to understand..."_ he can see he has my attention, so he continues softly when I stay silent...

 _"I think that after...'what happened'...I need to be **sure**...to **know**...it's really wanted..."_ he seems slightly embarrassed at the disclosure...

But I can understand that...he is battling his own aftermath...the rejection still hurts though...

 _"I still don't really understand?"_ he finally admits...

 _"I wanted to be normal...to be me..."_ I push the raw words out...hoping he can somehow read between them, to understand...

His face drops as he processes my words, _"You really wanted to?"_

I wish this was like it is on TV, where a conversation starts and everything is said, out loud, clearly...the emotional defensive walls tumble down, and both parties say the things they had been hiding...they completely understand each other and both finish off feeling better...the conversation brings resolution...

But the reality sucks...it is nothing like on TV...my voice is failing me, and when I can force out a few words, they don't really say what I want them to, and nothing I say is being **understood**...

 _"Maybe...?"_ I breathe uncertainly...my brow furrowing...

His frustration seems to only increase at my honest attempt to answer his question...and it looks like I've finally found the end of his patience...

 _"That's not a good enough answer..."_ he tells me softly, trying not to allow his exasperation to raise his voice, _"I'm trying, I'm really trying...but I need a real answer...I don't want to go out there..."_ he gestures back out to my living room, as if it were his obvious next step _"...and worry that I've fucked you up even worse, because you think I rejected you...but I also can't leave here thinking that if I hadn't questioned you, I could have wound up having sex with a woman who didn't want it...I can't cope with worrying that I wouldn't have been any better than **him**..."_

His last words are spit out through gritted teeth...he doesn't seem to be able to hold back his feelings anymore either...

_"For a second, I didn't stop you, I didn't question you, I kissed you back...I don't want to think that you would have had sex with me, even though you didn't want to...that I could have **raped** you...because that's what it would have been...I would have been a rapist..."_

I'm finding it hard to breathe, as he moves towards me...hot tears stream down my face as I shake my head frenziedly...gulping for air...

He seems to realize how panicked I am, and recognizes how his pleading advance towards me could be causing it...

 _"Shit! I'm sorry..."_ he whispers, dropping to the corner of the bed I'm curled up on, _"I just keep doing the wrong things...Fuck! You're terrified! Again!...What was I thinking? This was never the place to talk about this...I pushed my way into your **bedroom** , and while you're lying in bed I'm coming at you, almost shouting, about what **I** need..."_

His head drops into his hands and I'm sure he's crying...

I can't control myself; the words slip out before I'm even aware of them...

_"This is just my bedroom...after someone has pushed their way inside your **body**...someone in your bedroom isn't a big worry..."_

The words have only escaped, and I know I've gone too far...I meant to try and convince him it isn't a big deal, that it's just another room, that this conversation wouldn't be any easier anywhere else, but that's not what it sounds like...

He looks up, his face drops, and I worry that he is literally going to throw up...

I try to tell him I'm sorry...I try to excuse my comment as some sort of gallows humor...but he won't let me shrug the comment off, he seems to understand that in that slip, I had let out my real feelings...

 _" **Please?** "_ he sighs... _"Please..."_

I know he is desperate now, pleading for me to talk to him, to help him make sense of some of it...and I want to help him...I need to...for him and for me...

 _"I don't feel safe, here... **anywhere**...I didn't sleep here for so long **after**..."_ I wish I could stop, I want to stop, but there's a lot more I have to get out...

 _"You wouldn't have been a ...rapist..."_ the word I force out finally, is barely a whisper, and he leans forward to try to hear...

His brow furrows in confusion but he stays silent...

 _"I don't want **that** to be the last time..."_ I can't find a way to make myself say it... _"I need a new...memory..."_

Shame is coloring my cheeks again and I pull the quilt up to my eyes...unable to make eye contact...I can feel the filth crawling across my skin again...my words seemingly confirming **his** assessment of me again; that I am just some **slut**...

There's only silence for a couple of moments, I really wish John would say something...but slowly the realization dawns...between trying to jump him earlier, and **this**...I've done all the damage that is possible to our friendship...

In spite of all his heartfelt pleas earlier, for me to speak to him, that were met with silence...when the damage is done, and I should be shutting up...when the little voice inside me, that constantly warned me, **not** to tell anyone, has finally given up screaming... **now** my tongue loosens...

 _" **He** was right...I am a slut!...I just wanted...to not have... **his**..."_ I'm sobbing, all pretense at any control, any self control, gone... _"I...just...I didn't want..."_ I'm not sure he's really listening anymore, or that my tear-filled words are even decipherable... _"I'm not...surprised you...don't want... **me**...no good guy...is ever going...to want **me**...I'm disgusting...I'm so **disgusting**...I shouldn't have let **him**...I should have fought **him** harder...I should have shouted...I should have done **something**...I just wanted to **forget** it..."_

The words that couldn't be forced out earlier, now cannot be stopped...they keep tumbling out...I know I should shut up, I can see how John is looking at me, but I can't...

_"I just wanted to forget it...and I didn't have the nerve to ask...I knew you wouldn't want me...but...I managed to convince myself...and when I leaned over you...I felt **in-control**...powerful...I was the one who was in control...and I thought I could do **it**...I just wanted to forget..."_

I can see his face dropping, his lip curling in disgust...I know I've gone too far but all I can do is sob helplessly...soaking the bedclothes with tears once again...

All he does is stand up silently... I know he is going to leave, and I will probably never speak to him again...

I try to brace myself...to not debase myself even further, by pleading with him not to...

Instead, he crawls across the bed, carefully, silently, pulling me towards him.

He ignores how my body flinches at his approach; wrapping his strong arms around me, holding me tight...whispering softly that he won't hurt me...

I don't feel threatened...or unsafe in his embrace...but I can't calm the way my body is shaking... I trust him so much but I'm still shaking...He pays no heed to my trembling body, he just holds me, he doesn't pull away or loosen his arms, he just hugs me tight to him...and finally, my body seems to relax into his embrace...

He starts to whisper in my ear softly, _"I did want you...I **do** want you...You're not disgusting...I would be so lucky, to be with you...but it can't happen like that..."_

His hand strokes my hair gently...

_"I think I understand...that you want a new memory...to get rid of the bad one?... But it probably isn't that simple..."_

He slips his hand under my chin, trying to get me to meet his eyes...there is no joy in his face at that statement, it seems to hurt him to point it out...

_"I want to be with you, like that...but I need more information...I can't hurt you...I mean, I really **can't**...I need to know...we need to talk...we need to do _ _it properly, if you really want to...not **that** way...if we do it **that** way, you'd only get hurt **again**...get hurt **more**...I can't hurt you, not like that...I don't _ _think I could cope with feeling like that..."_

_"I don't want to talk..."_ I moan...

 _"I know...but I can't see any other way..."_ he whispers sadly... _"I'd be afraid...to touch you...I don't know what would **remind** you...what wouldn't feel good...what words..."_

Just the implication that John could say something that would echo **his** words, has **his** voice replaying in my head...the things I can't admit were said...and my whole body stiffens...

John no doubt, feels the tension in me, gently loosening his grip, but not releasing me...

 _"It's ok... **he** 's not here...you're safe..."_ he whispers to me soothingly... _" **He** was trying to manipulate you...to hurt you...it's not true..."_

I try to concentrate on John's words...substituting them for **his**...but I can't believe John...he doesn't even know what was said...

 _"How can you not understand how incredible you are?"_ he begins to ask _, "How strong you are? You've gone through all of this alone; I can't even begin to imagine how many nights you've spent, reliving it all in nightmares... Do you even know how rare what you have done is?"_

I don't understand this question...how rare? Does he think rape is some sort of 'rare' crime? Does he not know how horrifyingly normal, experiences like mine are? The only rarity in my story is him...that someone witnessed part of my attack, that someone intervened, that someone, that John, saved me...

He sees my questioning look...

 _"Fin gave me some...information...some pamphlets, some websites...that first night...in the hospital..."_ he stops to gauge my response, _"Some of it was resources for you...and some were resources for me..."_

His admission is tinged with shame, and I grab his hand tightly, trying to silently tell him he shouldn't feel ashamed...he nods softly at me...

 _"I guess I had a lot of questions...I wanted to know when **he** would be arrested...how long **he** would go away for...I didn't have any concept of how things worked!"_ he shakes his head ruefully at this acknowledgement, _"Fin was great, he tried to help me understand...and he suggested I check out some websites to...learn...I was so woefully naïve...I'm ashamed of myself now, for being so uneducated...But some of the statistics are incredible, and terrifying...I can't forget them! Only about 1 in every 3 rapes is reported to the police, **You** did that! You reported what **he** did! It wasn't easy, but you had the strength to do it!...Only 57 in every 1000 rapes results in an arrest...You did everything you could, to give the cops everything they needed to make sure **he** was arrested...That drops down to only 11 in every 1000 rapes goes to prosecution...Eleven!? And you are one of those 11..."_

I knew the stats were bad but he must be wrong!?...Even if I look at it, in the best possible way, discounting the hundreds upon thousands of assaults that the legal system is never made privy to...only 57 in the 310 or so reports, ever result in an arrest? That can't be right! That's not even 1 in 6 reports...how can less than 1 in 6 reports ever result in an arrest?

He seems to see my disbelief...

_"I know! I couldn't believe it! I kept going back to it, thinking I was reading it wrong...The website has this little drawing to illustrate it, ten groups of ten little figures to represent the 1000 people...so each little figure is 10 real people...and when you look at it and think that each figure is 10 ' **someone** 's who went through something like you did...people who are someone’s mother, father, brother, sister, **friend**.......And a little under 60 of them ever see an arrest for what they suffered!? That’s only a little over 5 stick figures....out of 100.... When you see only a little over 1 of those figures shaded in when it comes to prosecution...and each figure is 10 real people!? It's almost inconceivable..."_

I know he means to comfort me with the information, to remind me that I have beaten staggering, odds, to get to where I am, but all I can see is the huge gap he has deliberately left...

 _"How many see a conviction?"_ I whisper, almost unable to stomach the answer...

Now he seems to see his mistake in giving me numbers...but after a deep breath, and a gentle nudge from me, he tells me...

_"Seven! 7 out of the 11 that are prosecuted...are convicted..."_

I gasp...trying hard to hide my shock and despair in a laugh _..."I suppose that's pretty good odds..."_ I try to tell him, _"7 out of 13 is better than 50%..."_

But there is no mirth in my laugh and no comfort in the numbers...

 _"So only 7 in every 1000, ever sees a cell?"_ I ask him agonizingly...

He seems reluctant to answer but eventually whispers _"Six..."_

 _"6?"_ I demand, _"So 1 in every 1000 is found guilty, but still never sees a cell?"_ I complain, as if John were personally responsible for the outrage...this fact seeming even more unfair than all the others...

He just nods despondently, pulling me tight to him, _"There are way too many hurt people out there..."_ he mutters softly to me as I allow him to comfort me as the tears flow once more at how cripplingly unfair it all is...I curl into his chest sobbing in fear, in anger, in despair...

 

 

**A/N The Statistics quoted in this chapter come from the RAINN website...**

**...the drawing John describes is a sobering visual.....**

 


	34. Healing

**Thank you so much for reading, for sticking with me, whether you were known to me or if you were one of the faceless, anonymous, readers who just keep coming back. Thank you. It wasn't planned out to be, but this is the final chapter...the OC's recovery probably doesn't really ever completely end, but she is ready to move on and leave us behind...**

 

When morning comes, I awaken to find that John has leaned back against the headboard, at some point pulling my body down the bed to lie more comfortably, before he too, has fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around me barely loosening in sleep...

His head has dropped to one side, his neck twisted in a way that will no doubt painfully remind him of this sleeping arrangement during the day...And he has pulled some pillows behind his shoulders to leave him oddly propped up.

I'm glad that I woke slowly, curling into the chest that was my human pillow, sleepily, curiously, looking up to identify who I was entwined with in my bed, before fear had time to find me...

His face is peaceful...there is no sign of the nightmares he admitted to...

The odd way he is half lying, half sitting up, makes me think he moved our bodies more for my comfort than his own, and that he is slightly worried about inviting himself to lie too comfortably in my bed...

Maybe for the first time, I really look at him...he's a good-looking guy...

The hair he is always so precise with, shows the effects of the numerous times he ran his hands through it in frustration, and it's unusual messiness makes me smile. His jaw sports more than a 5 o'clock shadow, the short, dark, hairs clear in the morning light. I want to touch that facial hair covered cheek, knowing it will be rough and bristly...but I hold my hand back...

He is warm, and I feel safe in his arms, only barely moving my body from where it has lain against him, for the past few hours.

I don't want to move too much, and waken him...I don't want to be pulled back into talking about the things I want to forget...I don't want to have to be embarrassed...and I want to figure out how I feel so safe lying in my bed like this...

I smile at the realization that I'm still fully dressed...well that would help!...

He's probably fully dressed too?

My eyes drift down his body, taking note of the same button down shirt he wore in court yesterday, his legs showing the same dress pants...

Maybe I'm comfortable like this, because we are both dressed, **and** he wouldn't hurt me...The fact we are in my bed, means little...

I adjust my position a little more, happily settling into him...only to feel something poking me slightly...even in my still sleepy state I know what I can feel, but still find my head turning, to allow me to confirm what I already know...

I swallow quickly, a slight shiver passing through me...

I'm not afraid...not really...but the confirmation of what I felt, makes me uneasy...

It's ridiculous! I'm an adult! I know how men's bodies work! I'm not some innocent child! Last night this was what I wanted...what I tried to make happen...

I try to remind myself that it means nothing...that he is still sound asleep...that even if he wasn't, there is no threat in the completely ordinary, and natural, behavior of his body...

I still feel safe lying in my friend's embrace...even with his erection pressing lightly against me, and I try to settle back down, but I'm struggling not to equate what I can feel against me, with what I was so desperate to escape on a rough concrete floor all those months ago...

I know there are no similarities...but I can feel my anxiety levels rising nonetheless...it's as if my mind and body are separate entities, one is almost, totally at ease, unconcerned by the hardened flesh, because it knows that the man beside me is no threat...the other frozen, still, pleading desperately to squirm away, to distance itself from the menacing stiffness that calls forward panic; reminders of stabbing pain, burning pressure; of confusingly familiar, yet foreign movements; of sickening smells and touches...

My body seems to be incapable of 'forgetting'...

How can I have thought I could force myself to banish bad memories, with good ones, when a completely clothed sleeping man is causing my heart to race?

I disentangle myself from John as quietly and carefully as I can, desperate to avoid any discussion of **this**...I'm already embarrassed at my behavior last night, and I find myself confronted once again, with clear evidence of my weakness, and try to swallow down the knowledge that I probably could never have continued my clumsy effort at seduction...even if it wasn't rejected...

I only let myself breathe as I slide across the lock on the bathroom door... I felt him stir as I extracted myself from his arms, so I immediately run water into the bath, trying to hide as long as I can...

Once the bath is filled, I strip off my clothes, slowly lowering myself into the water, my knees automatically pulling up to my chest...

I've barely grabbed up the wash mitt, when I hear a soft voice from just beyond the locked door...

_"Hey! You ok?"_

I freeze, trying to decide what I should say, knowing there is no chance to pretend I didn't hear him... _"Morning! Yeah...help yourself to whatever is there for breakfast..."_

I stay frozen, listening for an answer, or the sound of him leaving the bedroom...but he must be doing something similar, because a few moments pass before I hear a soft sigh and footsteps, as he heads out towards the kitchen...

I sit in the hot water, anxiously waiting to hear the sounds of the kitchen; before I can relax...I hear the toilet flush, before the sound of presses opening then closing, and the familiar noises of the coffee machine...

How the fuck, have I got all the elements of an awkward post-sex, morning-after, breakfast, without having had the fun that should precede it?

I try to take a deep breath and calm myself...even though the thought only reminds me again, of how uncomfortable I was with his clothed body...how could **I** cope, with any of the elements of **fun**?

I hate that feeling his **hardness** reminded me...how could basic human anatomy scare me?

This was the same man who wouldn't kiss me last night; because he was worried he might trigger some memory...John's body is not the same...it doesn't feel the same...and he wouldn't hurt me...

But even as I tell myself this, I can't help scrubbing my skin red...

By the time the water has cooled, I have finally accepted that I have to get out and face him...

I dry myself, roughly dragging the towel across my pink skin, wrapping it tightly around my body and clutching it to my chest, listening carefully for sounds that assure me he is still in the kitchen before bolting out into my bedroom and hurriedly locking the door...

I quickly dress, pulling on loose sweat pants and a shirt, hiding behind the fabric of an oversize sweatshirt, as I pull my wet hair back in an elastic band.

It still takes a few deep breaths before I can slide the lock across and force myself out the door.

I'm greeted by a delicious smell, but I'm not sure I can eat...as I tentatively wander in to the coffee machine...trying to look nonchalant...

He says nothing, but watches me carefully as I drop in a capsule and hit the button...

When I hover against the counter, away from where he sits at the breakfast bar facing into the kitchen, he softly tells me there is a plate of food keeping warm in the oven for me...

Despite not being hungry, I gratefully accept the distraction, and retrieve the plate, grabbing a fork and retreating back to where I deliberately left my coffee...

He doesn't push me, but the silence is awkward, like we are both wanting to speak but neither have the courage to do so...

 _"I'm sorry..."_ I finally mutter...

 _"There's nothing for you to be sorry about!"_ he says very clearly. _"I'm really glad we talked...I know that this isn't easy... **none** of it...and you shouldn't have to be going through it...but I hope we can talk again... **anytime**....about **anything**..."_

I'm so grateful he is making this easy for me...I know he is gently alluding to last night, and probably also to his body's state this morning...without confronting me...

So it makes it possible for me to open up a little...

 _"I'm worried about the verdict..."_ I admit softly...scooping up a forkful of eggs...

 _"Me too..."_ he says, shaking his head, _"I don't understand how they could even need to think about it...how could the jury not see what **he** did?"_

_"Because **he** could be any of **them** , **their** husbands, boyfriends, fathers, brothers, sons..."_

I hate that I can understand it, but I really do...is it not part of the reason I find it so hard to really believe **it** happened?

Because the man who hurt me, wasn't some obviously unhinged, crazed, wild eyed, knife-wielding stranger, who dragged me, bodily, into a dark alleyway... **he** looked and acted pretty normally, and when **he** wasn't hurting me, **he** could even have been described as friendly... It's too hard to accept that monsters don't stand out...that a monster could be standing right beside us, without us knowing...or that maybe the monster is even somewhere within **us**... We need the distance of unfamiliarity...We need the comfort of not being able to identify with the monster...

He takes a bite of his toast, chewing thoughtfully... " _Maybe to look at?...maybe at first?...but surely listening to what **he** did...how could that remind them of the men in their lives?”_

I look at the confusion in his face, at his real desire for an answer...

 _"Because if **he** could do that..."_ I whisper...

He swallows hurriedly, as recognition grows...and I can't help remembering his intense fear last night that he too, could have been like **him**...

We both, continue to eat, alternating between sips of coffee and forkfuls of un-tasted food, too entangled in our own thoughts to consider small talk...

 _"Why don't we go do something?"_ John finally suggests. _"I'm not sure I can get through today and tomorrow, if I just sit waiting...and thinking..."_ he whispers with a self deprecating shrug... _"I mean, we can't pretend it's not happening...and we won't try to avoid the subject...but just...to make the day more manageable?"_

I consider the suggestion; it's not a bad one...

_"What were you thinking?"_

_"Dunno!"_ he announces with a thoughtful look.

He pulls his phone out of his pants, and starts typing, throwing it down and scrolling through whatever search results he is presented with, as he eats his breakfast, and I decide to do the same, immensely glad to have something so mundane to concentrate on...

But I've no idea where my phone is...I know I don't have it on me, and I didn't have it in my bedroom last night.

It isn't on the table in front of the TV...

I shuffle over to where I threw my bag and coat yesterday, only to find the handset, still set to silent, buried in the handbag...Oops!

I can see I have a missed call, and a couple of emails and messages...instantly investigating, hoping none of them were urgent.

When I see Mr. Barba's name staring back at me on the missed call log, a dull ache grips my stomach; What if...?

The memory that my lawyer had promised to ring me, after the jury had received their instructions quells the rising panic somewhat.

 _"Is everything ok?"_ John asks from his seat...

_"I missed a call from Barba! I guess I started to panic before I remembered that he promised to ring me once the jury was sent out..."_

I try not to cry as I begin to realize it is now Saturday, and despite his assurances that I can call him anytime, I can't call my lawyer for an update, on a Saturday morning...I have missed my opportunity to find out what instructions the jury was given... I try not to let my game face drop, conscious that John is watching me, as I scan through the messages and emails...

The text message from Barba pulls my attention immediately, my stomach sinking once more, as I open it quickly...

_[Everything went as we expected, the jury was sent out for deliberation before court recessed for the weekend. I hope you have a good evening, and I will try you again tomorrow. Rafael Barba]_

I let out a long relieved sigh, I didn't miss my opportunity; he is going to call back...a fact which I convey with deep relief, to John. He just nods with a smile, and I can't help wondering if he had already spoken to either my lawyer or Olivia, or maybe Fin...

None of the other communications, interest me so I start searching for some activity to distract us, as John is, and am very surprised when the phone rings, only maybe 10 minutes later.

_"Good Morning! This is Rafael Barba, I hope I'm not calling too early?"_

_"No, not at all!"_ I try to assure him.

_"I didn't want you to be worried, there were no surprises yesterday! The judge basically just gave the jurors the list of charges, explained their duties...they were informed that the verdict should be unanimous, and based only on the facts as presented... "_

He seems to give me a moment to absorb this piece of information...allowing me time before saying anything more...

_"There were the usual warnings about discussing the case outside the boundaries of the deliberation, nothing unusual or worrying..."_

Again he allows these facts to be digested for a moment before he continues, gently...

_"Deliberation continues on Monday at 10am...I don't think there is any chance of a verdict before about midday..."_

I nod wordlessly, forgetting the silent gesture is lost to him. _"But I'll know...Monday?"_ the words are barely a whisper...

 _"I'd expect so!"_ he tells me with a soft sigh. _"I will be notified as soon as there is a verdict, and will let you know..."_

 _"Thank you"_ I mutter automatically...

_"There is really nothing to be done, but I will be close by, if you have any questions before the verdict comes in... or if I can be of any help, before then?"_

This time my grateful words are much more considered, his gentle offer of support makes the words catch in my throat.

_"I know it seems impossible, but try to relax...enjoy your weekend...you have earned it!"_

The light praise, reminds me of all his previous reassurances, of his honesty with me...and I can't help but replay all the cautious assertions that we are in with a good chance, that the case, my case, is not lost yet...And I can't hold back the smile that pulls my lips; that was exactly his intent...

_"And you too Counselor...Thank you, for everything!"_

_"I will talk to you on Monday..."_ he reiterates softly before ending the call.

John is standing within easy arm's reach of me, I didn't notice him move, and I can't help wondering if it is his need for information, or a precaution, to be close and ready to support me...that brought him over.

After a couple of deep breaths, I relay the salient information on, without delay...he nods in understanding, grimacing slightly...

_"I hate to ask the question, it seems like such a fucking stupid thing to ask, but...how do you feel? Are you ok?"_

I can't help a slight groan, _"I **do** hate that question!"_

He nudges me lightly with his shoulder, when I stop talking, and the look he is giving me is unmistakably screaming 'yes, but you will answer it in some way nonetheless!?'...

I run my hands through my now loose hair, grasping a large chunk of it into a bunch, allowing my eyes to drop away...

_"My stomach is twisting...I'm so nervous...I hate that it's already over, even though I don't know yet..."_

A loud sigh escapes my lips...

_"But on Monday...it really will be over...and that's a relief..."_

He doesn't even get the chance to answer me before his phone is ringing, demanding his attention.

As he looks down at the display, a groan-filled **_"Fuck!"_** and a frustrated swipe answer the call...

A number of grunts and growls greet the caller until he starts to pace slightly, making suggestions...it is clearly work, and there is obviously a problem...

Within a couple of minutes, I have figured out that there has been a pretty big tech failure and that no one else can fix it, and it is quickly becoming an emergency, as he demands to know the deadline they are facing...the grunt and rolling eyes are enough to tell me he is very reluctantly, considering going in...

 _"Go!"_ I whisper softly, not wanting to draw attention to my presence, or invite questions of who the female voice in the background may be...

His shoulders drop, as he says he'll be there within the hour...

I wait until he has clearly ended the call before speaking...

 _"You've been off all week! Go! Fix it! You have to do a little bit of work occasionally..."_ The last words are laced with a look of mischief, taunting him to argue with me...

He doesn't, just takes a long mouthful from his coffee...seemingly trying to figure out how to tell me, he is worried leaving me alone, or doesn't want me to be here all day...

 _"I don't need a babysitter!"_ I tell him with a frown, my tone irritated and sharp, _"And I quite fancy a haircut, and some nice lunch...maybe a really spicy Mexican..."_

 _"Maybe we could get some dinner later?"_ he asks quickly...

I laugh at him, " _Are you new?! You are going in to fix something no one else can...that client isn't letting you leave until the job is finished!"_

He sighs, knowing all too well, how right I am...

 _"I don't need a babysitter!"_ The words this time are soft, reassuring... _"I really am ok! And I really am going to get a haircut and some nice food!"_

 _"Maybe I'm the one who needs the babysitter..."_ he whispers softly as he reluctantly nods...

This is something I never thought of...despite his many claims of not wanting to be alone either...

Somehow it never really occurred to me, that the repeated claims of needing company were anything other than a way of placating me...but why should it come as a surprise that the effects he is feeling, are in so many ways, not dissimilar to my own?

I reach out and wrap my arms around him. He is clearly surprised, but very quickly accepts and returns the embrace...

I remember his gentle confession of nightmares, of being unable to stop what he saw happening; his tears on the witness stand; the trauma of listening to **him** describe **it** , becoming too much...this man has been so honest with me, he has opened his own pain to me while he has tried to help me...

 _"I know this is unending for you too..."_ I whisper in his ear, _"...that Monday feels like forever away! But it's ok...I don't know how, but somehow this hasn't pushed us apart...you have been there for me, at every step...I know how hard it is for you too, and that you're trying to allow me to see that...and it means a lot to me. But it's like not letting me away with treating you badly...I know we have a lot to talk about, even from... **that** day...things that we haven't discussed...and it's so hard for me to say all that stuff out loud, but I'm trying...to show the same trust and strength that you show me...But getting over it, also means letting life get back to normal...even if that is a "new normal"... We both work silly jobs, and get silly, ever changing demands on our time...and it's ok! I didn't want to admit it, even to myself...but I needed you this week, _ _I needed the support and the understanding. And I probably will again on Monday...but I'm okay. Go to work!"_

My words are soft, laced with a confidence I didn't know I still possessed. There's no tears, no shuddering sobs behind them. They aren't being forced out of my lips to project a strong façade...

_"John, I needed to hear that Fin doesn't believe that Dave can walk away from what he did, with no consequences...even if we don't get him for rape...that doesn't mean that I won't sob my heart out, because I think I can almost guarantee I will, but it means a lot to know that he will probably be convicted of some wrongdoing._

_It means a lot that you told me that...that you have never walked on eggshells, and treated me as the broken, ruined, shell I was...Even as I shouted at you, accusing you of doing exactly that, you treated me with respect but you treated me like...me! You never made me feel weak...or broken...you've supported me...you've helped me so much...and what made it all the more astounding was you didn't try to hide how much it all affected you too..._

_I know that there are hard days ahead...it has only been such a short time really...since the rape...but I guess I've been struggling what **he** did, for a long time... Monday is gonna be hard, I'm not sure I'm not going to fall apart, whatever the verdict. If I hear the words I've dreamt about hearing... "We the jury, find the defendant...Guilty...of rape"...I'm not sure that's not going to hurt every bit as much. Because it is the final proof that it happened..._

_But...because of your support; of Olivia and Fin's help and support; because of Rafael Barba's fight for me, because of all the help and understanding I've found at group...even though the words make me feel sick and dirty to say...I was raped, and hurt...but I know I am believed...and that I am worth fighting for and helping..._

_I'm not **fixed**...I'm not sure I ever really will be...Hell, I proved that by trying to seduce you, only last night... And I'm not sure when it happened, I only realized it now, but that feeling of being trapped in a dark tunnel, with no way out, only going deeper and deeper into pain, isn't there anymore..._

_I know I still jump and flinch when people touch me; I know I'm still almost always an emotional mess, and I don't think I'll ever be able to really forget..._

_But there's some light in the tunnel now, and the roof is gone, and sometimes it's even like the sides fall away too..._

_I have so much healing left to do...but I am ok..."_

For a moment, the crazy monologue that I never saw coming, fades into silence...as I look at my friend in front of me, struggling to hold back proud and happy tears...

_"You were right last night...to...stop me...You wouldn't have been a rapist if you hadn't...but you were right!"_

_"Would you have stopped me? Or just let me?"_ John whispers...

 _"I'm a work in progress I guess..."_ trying to deflect the question, before taking a deep breath and confessing, _"I don't know...I want to wipe it away, so maybe I might have concentrated on that..."_

 _"You're worth more than just getting it over with...to forget..."_ he counters quickly and kindly, but the softness in his features shows how overwhelmed he is at my honesty... _"You are so incredibly strong..."_ he mumbles.

 _"It really doesn't feel like it...I feel like I'm still shaky and weak..."_ I try to ignore the subject of my worth...the assertion that I still have value, is embarrassing, and I struggle to really believe it...but I can't deny the reminder has an effect on me...

_"But I do feel a little more like who I was...I don't know what changed...  
_ _I'd love to say I plan on looking Dave Smith in the eye, until **he** looks away, just before the verdict...to let **him** know **he** didn't beat me, no matter what **he** did or said...but I don't think I can. When I look at **him** , the feelings are too intense; too fresh still...but **he didn't beat me!**_ **_He raped me, he physically, and emotionally, hurt me...but he didn't win! And I won't allow him to win..."_ **

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

Sometimes it feels like that verdict was finally, passed, a lifetime ago...that my life only really began, once the jury had decided on the veracity of my claims...but then when the memories claw me back into the nightmare, it feels like I've never left that part of my life behind...

I guess, an outside observer might say I'm doing well...that I've pretty successfully, folded my experiences into my life, and who I am...but it doesn't go away... **never**...not totally... On some basic level, you change; maybe you have to, for your own survival, for your sanity...

I'm definitely stronger now! I wonder how much of that is just being older and wiser, but there is no way to know...I like to think that maybe a part of it is some karmic reward for all that happened.

I know that standing in the courtroom, after what felt like an eternity of jury deliberation, winged by my friend John, and the two police officers who were my saviors many times over, to hear a panel of my peers, at long last, declare my monster _"Guilty"_ , was a huge building block in my recovery...and I am all too aware of how incredibly lucky I was, and how amazingly rare the verdict that freed me was... the number never really leaves me; 994 out of 1000 rapists walk free...and I am one of the lucky 0.6%...it seems almost unbelievable that I managed to beat odds like that...

I can never remember that overwhelming sense of relief mixed so entirely into pain that I collapsed in tears, without the ghostly clock that is overlaid onto the experience...8 years...it didn't seem much...and as the clock counts down, it seems less and less, like punishment enough.

I knew immediately, that an 8-year sentence would result in substantially less time served...but as the short years zip by, and three years rolls into four, the instinctive tensing begins...How soon will I be notified that **he** is being released?

I try not to dwell on the thought...

I've been assured that **he** would not be welcome back, into even the wider circle, of work.

A flash of memory brings back the unexpected soft cheer from the gallery behind me, when the verdict was finally read out. The benches and wall behind me and my lawyer filled with familiar faces, while the other side was sparsely populated...a strange parody of a wedding service where the side you sit on speaks volumes about your allegiances...

I didn't expect to see so many of my colleagues throng into the courtroom...The significance of their presence, almost exclusively behind **me** , lost on me until the cheer forced me to consider it further...

Maybe they didn't feel their presence appropriate during the trial? Maybe they couldn't face hearing...? Maybe the guilt that Olivia described finding amongst them, prevented their presence?

But when **he** was declared _"guilty"_ , the relieved feeling didn't seem to be confined to me...

There were some short, but heartfelt, conversations...whispered promises of _"Never again!"..._ breathless _"congratulations"..._ soft reminders of " _you're one of us"_ and _"We're here with you, not him"..._

As I stood, outside the courthouse, still struggling to really understand what the verdict meant, waiting for John to pull his car around, a man I hadn't seen in years, a face that immediately brought me back to just after the internal investigation all those years ago, caught my eye...

 **This** was the man who had stood before me, hands on hips, no signs of sympathy or empathy for me, and cruelly taunted me with the words _"I bet you're sorry you did this now... **he** 'll be back to work tomorrow!"..._

I tried to ignore the now older, man...to divert my eye away...but he walked towards me...I tried not to flinch away as he stood before me...Still unwilling to cause a scene, I put my hand out to say hello...

To my eternal amazement, he pulled me into a quick hug...

There was nothing said...

And then he was gone...

I'm still not sure how to interpret his action...Was he silently apologizing? Acknowledging his mistake? Had he stood behind me cheering, when Dave was convicted?

I'm not sure how I feel about it, even now; the memory is still fragile, still upsetting, in some strange and unexplained way...

I'm not sure I can forgive him for that cruel taunt...

As time has gone by, I have spent a lot of time debating forgiveness. It seems to be almost expected...that to move on, I should forgive...but I can't forgive...and I can't forget...I can't forgive what Dave Smith did, and he has shown no regret...and I still haven't forgiven myself...for my weakness; for allowing **him** to get close; for being too afraid to make a scene...

I feel sympathy for my old self...I feel immense empathy for that woman, who was treated so horribly...but forgiveness, even self-forgiveness, is still a long way off...

I managed to go back to work...

My career has thrived...but some of the love I once had for my job has faded...replaced by suspicion, by caution, by tightly controlling my surroundings...always knowing that my past is no secret...

I have proven myself...proven that I could go back...that I could keep doing the job...that I wasn't weak...but the almost, constant reminders have taken a toll on me.

Maybe it is time to find something new to do?

Maybe healing would be easier if my workday wasn't spotted with reminders of the past? But at the same time, I feel such pride in this victory, and the small gestures of kindness from colleagues on difficult days never fail to bring me to the verge of tears with deep gratitude. Despite the problems of the familiarity, and the reminders, I feel like an accepted part of something...

I don't really see John as much anymore...we never fell out...just the pulls of reality have had us drift softly apart... I'm always hugely thankful for him and his friendship though, and we can still turn to each other when things get difficult. Our friendship was forged in fire...we don't need to see each other everyday, for our bond to last. I can't imagine how I could have gotten through all that I did, without him, and without his help. I guess that sometimes a friendship doesn't last forever...just as long as it is needed...that some people are just there for as long as they are needed...a sort of human life-preserver, that saves you from the crashing waves, for as long as the waves are lapping threateningly, at you...I know we both supported each other, maybe until we were strong enough to be able to stand alone... And I am grateful every day for that...

I still send Olivia, Fin and Barba, a card at Christmas, to thank them for all they did for me...never forgetting the calls that were made to check in on me, even after the verdict, and the time my lawyer spent with me, delicately explaining the likely timelines and procedures for **his** eventual release...

I often find a note in the post in the early part of January, from Olivia, to thank me for the card, and to remind me that she is always there, if I need her, and that fact always means so much to me.

I can't help remembering that first day, when I was still in pain and shock, when she drove me home and gave me the card with her number...I wondered how many people, like me, she had done that with, and how she ever got a uninterrupted night's sleep?... Now I know that she often doesn't, but that she never begrudges the help she gives so freely.

I rub my temples gently...the memories are always so much stronger on days like today; when I am tired... When sleep deprivation, and time pressures weigh heavily on me, and the walls themselves seem to be a trigger...

I guess I should be proud of myself for being able to work here again...even though the building has since been gutted and rebuilt, so as to render it almost unidentifiable to anyone else, as the same place I was hurt...

I look down at the concrete of the floor, and shiver at the memory... **it's not the same floor anymore!**

I sigh softly; I am so much better now, so much further along the path of healing...my life is happier than I thought I deserved, or could ever manage...but some days are just that bit harder...

I hear my name being shouted...and push the memories back into their box...smiling softly; I'm ok...

I know it sounds like a denial I have been guilty of so many times before...but it's not a denial now...it's a soft victory...I really am ok...

I have gone through a lot...but I **have** come through it...and fortune cookie wisdom pipes up with the best description...

_"What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger..."_

I roll my eyes at the thought, but I really am stronger, I really wasn't beaten down...and **I can, and will deal with whatever comes tomorrow...**


End file.
